The Three Muskequeers
by Veronique Roux
Summary: "Well, it's hard to get over something that you got yelled at for crying over." I sigh, looking up to meet her eyes. "I wish somebody woulda yelled at me for crying over you."  Klainetana friendship, POSSIBLE Brittana or Santana/OC
1. Chapter 1

Klainetana :) this is basically friendship fic, klaine, brittana, klainetana, etc.

anyway, i got the idea from something i saw on tumblr, but i actually have no idea who came up with the 'three muskequeers', so whoever that is YOU'RE A GENIUS. i take no credit!

I don't own anything but the plot. possible oneshot, maybe continue, depends on feedback.

_thoughts_

_"cellphone"_

**text**

enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

I sit alone in Glee.

I'm used to it by now. Even in classes, no one talks to me. I sit by myself at lunch. I go straight home after school. My only company is Karofsky.

But it doesn't matter how used to it I am. It still hurts. I'll never say it out loud, but I'm lonely as hell.

It's literally driving me crazy.

Rachel casts me an odd glance. I roll my eyes and sit back in my seat. Mr. Schue is talking. I'm not paying attention.

"Santana!" I look up.

"Mm-hmm?"

"Have you heard a _word_ I've been saying?"

I hesitate. "Yes."

"Really? Then what is this week's assignment?"

I blink, on the edge of words. "Uh..."

"Thought so. Santana, honestly. I _really _hate to say this, but if you continue to act like this, and not contribute, you're going to be out. I'm sorry, but I will do it."

I sigh and nod. "M'kay." I go back to not paying attention.

_Do I really even care if I'm in Glee? They all hate me. I'm sure they'd rather I was out. Actually, you know what? I can quit. It isn't fun anymore, now that Britt-Britt hates me. I'm sure Rachel and them would rather have me gone. The only thing I've ever said to or around Kurt and Blaine that wasn't an insult was that thing with Karofsky. Where is Karofsky? I didn't see him today..._

"Santana, are you taking me seriously? I'd rather you stayed in this club."

I bite my lip. "Actually, Mr. Schue..."

He raises an eyebrow. I'm suddenly overcome with annoyance.

"Mr. Schue, I don't honestly care if I'm in the club anymore. None of you are my friends, I don't have fun in here anymore. So go ahead and kick me off. I don't give a shit about _any one of you._ Just like you don't care about me, okay? I gotta go, I'm Dave's ride."

That last part was a lie. He's usually _my _ride, but today, he is strangely not present.

Maybe he's sick. I sigh and decide to just walk.

It's true that Lima Heights Adjacent is technically the average/upper class part of town that's right _next to _the bad part of town. That doesn't mean it's safe to walk home. Nothing usually happens, but the way the school is angled with my house, I have to walk through said bad part of town to get home. I also lived there up until age twelve. My dad got a raise, and after a while, we had the money to move. Lima Heights Adjacent is the average/upper class, but Lima Heights is the upper-upper class. Like, Quinn lives there. It's crazy expensive.

I always take a second and look at our old place when I'm walking home. It's a run-down one-story, cheap plastic tiles, graffiti on one of the walls. But honestly, we were happier there than we've ever been in the Adjacent.

You know, nobody ever bothered to find out that I don't have a mom. She was diagnosed with skin cancer when I was five, died four years later. I miss her more than anything.

Brittany knows that. She's the only one. And absolutely nobody knows that I only actually see my dad about once a week, and that's in passing. Not even my brother knows that. He moved out, though. He's in college.

I pull out my key and unlock the door exhaling slowly. Our house is a two-story. Four bedroom, three bath. There's a spacious kitchen connecting to the TV room which houses a giant-ass HD flatscreen, which connects to the hall, where the stairs come down, and the door is at the end of the hall.

I drop my bag by the door, kick off my shoes, and turn on my PS3 for a three-hour Bulletstorm marathon. Fun.

You wouldn't guess it, but honestly, I do geek out sometimes. I will admit that I saved up for months to get a ticket to the last Comic-Con. It was AWESOME. I was glad I put a mask on, though, cause I saw Sam there. I was dressed as Catwoman. Suits me, don't you think?

At five, I sign on to Gmail. I have a few random spams, nothing important. There's never anything important anymore. I spend my Friday nights alone nowadays.

Not that I like it.

* * *

><p><strong>Kurt<strong>

"No offense, and all, but didn't you used to always call her a bitch?", Blaine asks exasperatedly.

"Well, yeah, but I probably shouldn't have. I don't know her, y'know? And come on, you know Brittany was her only friend? I don't know what happened with them."

"Huh. Do you think Mr. Schue will kick her off?"

I sigh. "I hope not. She's, like, _really good. _And I know I told Rachel once that she was replaceable, but honestly, no one is. No one else would _join._ And it's a miracle we even ever had Santana, and Brittany, and Quinn."

"Yeah... Well, and Finn, and all the other guys from the football team. In a lot of schools..."

"I know! I know that. But still, does she really think we all hate her?"

"Well,"Blaine began in his reasonable tone,"What would you think? She's kind of been, well, a bitch. From what you tell me."

"Well, yeah, but she obviously isn't like that all the time. Otherwise Brittany wouldn't like her."

"And also, she probably would've let Karofsky pound us both to shit. I know I said we could've handled it, but seriously..."

"Oh, I know, I was freaking out!"

"Wanna watch it again?"

"Seriously, Blaine? Okay."

"No, I still just don't see it. How do I look like him?"

Blaine is a serious Harry Potter addict. There's this YouTube thing called 'A Very Potter Musical' and Blaine totally looks like Darren Criss. He just doesn't get it.

"You just do. You could _be _him, I wouldn't even notice. Well, I probably would, but you know what I mean."

"Whatever."

"Maybe you're twins!", I say excitedly.

"Obviously."

"Oh, shut up and put it on."

Blaine does so, but he glances back at me with an eyebrow raised. "Well...do you mean the video, or..."

"Oh, that's what she said. Okay."

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

I guess I was expecting it. Y'know, to get kicked off? After what I said yesterday, I was pretty sure Mr. Schue would take a vote. And he did.

So as I approach the choir room after school, Mr. Schue stops me outside.

"Uh, Santana..."

"That's my name."

"About what you said yesterday, I decided to take a vote."

"And...what did they say?"

"Only two people voted in your favor. I'm sorry, Santana, but it's almost unanimous, I have to go by popular opinion. You were a great addition to the club. We'll miss you."

I shake my head, smiling cynically. "No, two people will miss me. Can I ask who they were, at least?"

He hesitates. "Well, Kurt and Blaine."

I nod slowly, and turn to walk away. That stings a little more than I thought it would. I'd hoped Brittany would be one of them. I guess that it really is over. I curse the tears in my eyes. I screwed up, and Brittany didn't understand. She's innocent to a near fault, and that's what ended us.

But I won't get into that now. I check to make sure no one is around, and I slam my locker open, grab my jacket and fling it shut with a loud crash. Tears are flowing out of my eyes, and I storm out into the parking lot. I pull the door to Karofsky's car open and sit down heavily.

"What the- San? What's wrong?", he asks tentatively.

"Nothing. Just...thinking about stuff. I got kicked out of Glee club."

"Oh. That sucks."

I glare at him, but I'm honestly not sure if I'm looking at him or something else. I can hardly see.

"Well, what do you want me to say? That club is lame."

"No, it's not. Don't be a douche, Karofsky. Those are, like, the only good people in this school. Probably why I got kicked off."

"They shouldn't of done that, okay? You're just as good as any of them."

I give him a look. "No. I'm a l... I'm g... I'm...lebanese, and I can't even say it out loud! Okay, what fucking kind of person is that? At least Kurt and his hobbit can admit it."

"Really? Look what I did to Kurt, San. At least you're better than me." His voice is so broken that I want to hug him but I don't.

I sigh. "I was hardly any better with Hummel, Karofsky. D'you know I called him Tinkerbell? Or Ladyface? Porcelain? I've never called him 'Kurt' to his face."

"Why are we even talking about this? It's done with, okay? Just...we should get over it."

"Good luck with that."

"Same to you."

I sigh and there's a long moment of silence.

He looks over at me. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>The next day, I approach the locker that Kurt and Blaine have been sharing ever since Blaine transferred with my jaw set in determination.<p>

See, I'm a bitch by nature. It's part of the walls I like to put up. 'Thank you' is hardly in my vocabulary.

So, this is far from easy for me.

As I come closer, Kurt glances up, looks confused, and whispers something to Blaine, who is looking in, I think, his History book. Blaine looks up as well.

"Um...hi.", I say awkwardly.

They exchanged a glance and Kurt nods in reply.

"Well..." I curse inwardly. "I just kind of..." _Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. _"Mr. Schue told me that you guys are the only two who voted for me to not get kicked off. So I just wanted to, y'know, like, say thanks. For the effort. So, yeah."

I turn around and start to walk away. An incredibly soft hand grabs my arm. Duck fat, he says? Eh, not worth it.

"What, T...uh, Kurt?"

He blinks, shocked by my lack of an insult. "You got kicked off? We just thought you didn't show."

"Mr. Schue didn't...? Well, I did. Everyone but you guys said that they didn't want me, so..." I shrug, deciding not to speak because my voice is starting to sound a little thick, as if I'm going to cry or something. Santana Lopez doesn't cry. Yesterday was an exception. And the day before that. And every single fucking day since Brittany started to hate me. It doesn't fucking count.

"He didn't tell us.", Blaine says in this soft voice, as if he's sorry for me or something. But that's ridiculous. "I'm sorry about that, I honestly can't believe them."

I sigh. "Whatever. I had it coming. I'm kind of a self-involved bitch? You all kind of wanted me gone anyway." I smirk wryly, feeling tears coming to my eyes. "You guys probably just knew you wouldn't be able to get a twelfth member soon enough for sectionals. I gotta go. I have trig. Check ya later. Well, never mind, I'll probably wind up never speaking to you again. Whatever." I swipe a hand past my eye as I turn around, hoping my mascara isn't smearing.

I'm so freaking emotional lately. Without Britts, I'm just...well, a mess.

"Um...Santana?", Kurt calls out, hesitance clear in his voice.

I don't turn around. I don't want them to know I'm crying at this point. "What?"

"We, uh, we were gonna go by my place, watch a movie, you know, after school? Do you want to...come with?"

I freeze. Is he joking? I didn't know he was that cruel. He's not, though, is he? "I... Maybe. What movie?"

"Something Disney.", Blaine supplies.

"Oh... I... Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I mean, why not?"

"Okay, then. I'll meet you here after the last bell?"

"Cool. See you then." I hear there footsteps start up and fade away as I also start to walk.

I really hate Azimio. I hear a shuffle of footsteps, see a bright flash of green, feel a harsh, cold blow to the face, and taste sour-watermelon. And then the green slushy is soaking into my hair, dripping down my chest and my back, getting into my eyes, and he's laughing.

"That's what you get, Lez-Pez!"

I whirl around, shoving a portion of the slushy off my face.

"What'd you just call me?", I demand.

"Everybody knows, homo. We all know. The Jew-Fro kid posted it on his blog."

My lips mold into a snarl. "Ben Israel."

"I don't hear you denying it."

"I shouldn't have to."

He walks away, and all I can do is hope he doesn't take it the way I meant it.


	2. Chapter 2

hey! so thanks for the reviews, but i'd just like to say, i appreciate constructive criticism, but please don't just tell me my ideas are 'shitty'. i get that the AVPM thing is kind of getting old, i don't really care.

anyway, here's chapter two.

_thoughts_

_"cellphone"_

**texts**

enjoy!

* * *

><p>I'm feeling a little nervous as I climb out of Kurt's car. He cares about it so much, you can almost think he's straight. But then you see his clothes and stuff, and you realize how ridiculous that is.<p>

We watch 'The Lion King'. When Mufasa dies, Kurt cries, Blaine almost does, and I start laughing. It's not that I don't find it sad, because, really, it is _really _sad, but I just can't stop laughing. Then Kurt says that there was obviously a reason I was named Satan. I say that there was obviously a reason I called him Tinkerbell. He shut up.

The movie ended and we sat on Kurt's counter, eating the rest of the popcorn. Kurt knows the strangest things about people. I guess that no one notices the nobody's of the school when there talking about how they once nearly cut off a toe in a blender?

Kurt's dad comes home soon after, and we finish the popcorn. I slide off the counter. "Surprisingly, I didn't hate this. But I gotta get home. I told my..." I hesitate. "I gotta go home."

To my annoyance, Kurt and Blaine exchange a glance. Both of them raise their eyebrows. "It can't be safe for you to walk home at this time of night. Seriously, Santana, we'll give you a ride.", Blaine offers.

I purse my lips. They totally have a point. "Alright. But only 'cause I gotta walk through the ghetto."

"Of course, dear.", Kurt replies in a faux British accent. "DAD! We're driving Santana home!"

His reply comes in the form of a far-off,"Okay!" and a confused yell of,"Wait. Santana's here? How did I _not_ know that?"

The second one was from Finn. How shocking.

Kurt rolls his eyes and grabs his keys, heading for the door. I grab my purse and Blaine and I follow him. As the door closes behind me, I hear Finn continue with his little monologue,"What is Santana doing here? Are they leaving? I'm confused. I thought Kurt doesn't like Santana. This is so weird."

I roll my eyes and climb into the car.

"It's the Adjacent, right?"

"Yep. Turn here."

Kurt does, looking a little confused. "Why...? I was going to take the next street."

I shrug. This is the street my our old place is on. "This is just the way I walk. I like to..." I fade off. Walking by that house has become a tradition for me. "I don't know. I used to live..." I point. "_There. _I just like walking past it. I liked it here."

Kurt sounds a little confused when he replies. "But you're new place is, like, way nicer, isn't it? Wouldn't you _not _miss living here?"

I shake my head. "Sure, it's a shitty house, but we were happier here. And..." I stop. I don't want to mention my mom. "I don't know, it was when I still saw my brother every day."

"Why...", Blaine starts, but trails off.

"Oh, he's in college now. I haven't been keeping too close with him lately. He's going to Yale. My family is awesome." Okay, that last part is just a lie. But hopefully it'll annoy them enough that...

And then it kind of hits me. I have no reason to want to annoy them. The way things are turning out, they're close to being my only two friends. I study the ground, realizing I'd made a mistake. And I do another thing that a year ago I wouldn't have even thought about.

"Sorry. That was...what's the word...insensitive."

Kurt shrugs. "It's fine." His tone is a little clipped, which points at the opposite. But of all people, I most definitely get it. I would be pissed if someone started to brag about their perfect family around me, especially if they knew about _my _mom.

Blaine doesn't speak. His eyes are on Kurt. I sigh, more than slightly depressed now. "This is me.", I say, even though it isn't.

Blaine twists to look at me. "Really? It thought you were further into the Adjacent than this."

I shrug.

Kurt slows the car to a stop, and I'm climbing out when it's still inching along. I start to walk forward, forgetting that they haven't left yet, and I suddenly remember and walk up the drive of the next house, and stop next to the door, and just stand there until I hear the car drive away.

* * *

><p>I haven't really spoken to either of them since then. It's only been a couple days.<p>

I sigh and hug my binder closer to my chest. I glance down, briefly admiring the affect of the implants. I don't give a damn what Sue Sylvester thinks, I like them.

"-and we were thinking, we've given you two a shitload of warnings. 'Specially you, Hummel."

I freeze, recognizing Azimio's voice through the general chatter.

I push past a few people. There's a semi-circle forming around Kurt and Blaine's lockers. Azimio and a bunch of other neanderthals from the football team are in a group around the pair.

"And we could always use a workout.", says some meaty blonde.

"Hey!", I call out forcefully.

They turn. I grit my teeth.

"You think you're gonna go fucking Braveheart on them? You know what's brave? All you assholes, laying into them. The fuck goes on in that oversized head of yours, 'Zimio?", I growl.

"What, you think you can help them? Look at that, bro.", another guy nudges Azimio. "It's the three muske_queers._"

A ripple of laughter spreads through the crowd, and I vaguely hear Kurt murmer. "That's actually very clever."

I step forward, sighing. "I think I asked you ass-fucks a question? Just what the _hell _do you _think you're doing?_"

Azimio gets up in my grill. "Your prostitute of a mother. Did she ditch you when you were a kid? I wouldn't blame her. Is that why you're such a bitch?", he asks scathingly.

Tears start to prickle my eyes. I slap him hard across the face, turn and storm off.

* * *

><p><strong>Kurt<strong>

Santana disappears. I wonder vaguely why it bothered her so much. I mean, it would piss off anyone, but it looked like San was about to cry. And I've _never_ seen her back out of a fight.

I guess we're screwed after all.

Two skater-types in the front are suddenly shoved apart, revealing a tall blonde, pale with rage. Brittany's fists were clenched and she was trembling.

"_What the_ _hell is wrong with you, Azimio?_" Her voice is loud, echoing down the hall and causing nearly everyone to jump.

She's striding towards him, looking like she's ready to kill. "What were you thinking?"

Azimio glances back and forth, taking a few steps back. "I- Okay, maybe I went a little far, but-"

"_HER MOM'S DEAD, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!_" Brittany is screaming at him now. Total silence falls in the hall. Brittany shoves him, hard, turns on her heel and disappears.

I don't even notice my jaw dropping. Azimio is stuttering aimlessly, looking shocked. One of the guys who _just _was laughing when he went off about San's mom punches his arm. "Not cool, man."

I roll my eyes, but Blaine and I slip away. I pull him down to sit at a table in the cafeteria.

"Oh, my God...", he breathes. "I never would've... Oh, my God..."

"I'll never understand that girl. She goes on in the car about her 'perfect family', and now this? She's the strangest... Oh, my _God, _Blaine! Her mom's dead!"

"Did you _just_ notice this? You're a genius."

"Love you, too.", I reply with a smirk. On impulse, I lean over and peck him on the lips.

He blushes, pushing me lightly. "_Kurt._"

I scoff, throwing a lazy arm over his shoulders. "Nobody's looking."

Blaine throws a sideways glance at me. "You should be confident more often." He smiles with just a touch of sarcasm. "You found your sexy!" He then goes very red.

I brush a hand through my hair, disregarding the hours of effort it took to make it perfect this morning. "Ya really think?"

He sighs. "Not telling. Where do you think Santana ran off to?"

I resume a serious expression. "Well, I'd guess either the girls bathroom, the choir room, the auditorium, or the football field. Or she just left altogether. Brittany went to find her, didn't she?"

Blaine shakes his head, shrugging slightly helplessly. "I hope so."

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

I look at the door. Then the clock. Twenty minutes. Fifth period is soon. I won't be going.

I pull my legs up onto the chair, pressing my lips together. I stand up. I might as well just go home now. Better than sitting in here and having to leave when Glee starts.

"Santana!" The door opens and a confused looking Brittany smiles upon seeing me. "There! I got stuck in a bathroom stall. I couldn't find you, and then the door wouldn't open. I forgot you had to pull instead of push."

I start to smile, but break into tears. I just missed her _so much..._

"Tanny? Did... Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry."

I shake my head. "No, you didn't." I wipe at my eye.

"I just thought I should find you after what stupid Azimio said. I scared him so bad, San!"

"Wh-why?"

"Because he was mean to you. He shouldn't have said that about your mom."

"He didn't know."

"That's no excuse." Brittany looks awkward. "I... I think I did something wrong."

"No, you didn't, Britt. I-"

"I accidentally yelled at Azimio."

"So? He deserves to be yelled at."

"Well, yeah, but then everyone could hear what I was saying!"

"O-oh." I sigh. "Whatever. I'm not going to be getting any crap. They don't like me, and it's not like I'm not...okay...with it, by now. It's been years. No one will care."

"You care."

"She was my mom, Britt. Of course I care.", I say softly.

"Yeah. You _should _care. But I don't think you're okay with it yet."

"It's been eight years."

"So? I just don't think you are."

"Well, it's hard to get over something that you got yelled at for crying over." I sigh, looking up to meet her eyes. "I wish somebody woulda yelled at me for crying over you."

She frowns, her brow creasing, but she holds my gaze. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

"I-" She sits next to me. "You know I love you right? I meant it. If me and Artie ever-"

"Britt, please." I exhale slowly. "I love you, too, but I just don't know how crazy I am about being your back-up plan. And look at you. You and Hot Wheels aren't going to break it off anytime soon."

She sighs, grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze. I meet her slightly teary eyes, and she smiles sadly. Then she's gone.

About two hours later, I'm still sitting in that room. I hear noise start to fill the halls, and I know sixth period's just let out. That means school is over, which means that school is out. I sigh, not wanting to get up just yet. I still have a few more minutes.

Several minutes later, I hear approaching footsteps, and just as I'm thinking that I should slip out the other door before anyone comes in, the left door bursts open, and Finn and Rachel stride in, closely followed by Mr. Schue, Kurt, Mercedes, Tina, Artie, Blaine, Puck, Laurent, and Quinn. Brittany comes in the other door. I jump up, suddenly very conscious of what happens when someone with mascara on cries.

"Sorry, lost track of time. Bye."

I start to run towards the door. Like, literally, _run. _

"Uh, Santana?", Mr. Schue calls with a touch of uncertainty. I bite back a curse and turn around.

"You can stay, if you want."

I smile with venom-filled sweetness. "Oh, no. Wouldn't want to _intrude._"

* * *

><p>I don't walk home right away. I go out to the front of the curb of WMHS and sit, watching car after car fly past. It's relaxing, even though my hair is a mess by now. A Camaro screams by straight in front of me. I watch it longingly. I've wanted a Chevy Camaro ever since I watched Transformers.<p>

I sigh, propping my elbows on my knees and resting my chin in my palm. What a fucked up day.

It's sprinkling, but steadily turning into rain. The drops grow, and puddles form around my feet. My hair goes from damp to soaked.

"That's gonna be a mess in a few hours, Satan."

The voice is high-pitched, but decidedly male. Kurt.

"What is?"

"You're hair. It's going to frizz when it dries."

I look up as he sits down, which honestly surprises me because I didn't think he'd risk getting his clothes wet for anyone, and I figured I'd be at the bottom of that nonexistent list.

I snort. "So's yours."

"Well, I have less hair.", he sighs.

I purse my lips, wanting him to get to the point. "What are you doing here? Don't you have to go home?"

"Well, yeah. But you seemed a little...frazzled. Thought I'd see how you were. And I honestly worried about your hair. Also, I noticed it started pouring, and I didn't really think you'd appreciate pneumonia. Or the like."

I study the ground, struggling with words. "How...how did your mom die?"

There's a long silence. "A car crash. Some drunk driver bashed into her car, head-on. Dead on impact." He laughs, an awkward trill. "You're actually the first person I've told. Everyone else didn't want to ask, I guess."

I sigh deeply. "My mami got skin cancer when I was five. I prayed for her every night for four years, and then I figured out that praying doesn't do shit." I look over at him. "I'm an atheist, too."

"Really? I didn't know that. I thought you were Catholic, or something."

I shrug. "Used to be."

He starts messing with my hair, combing out water with his fingers, an intense look of concentration apparent on his face. I guess he was serious about that. He gives up and drops his arms to rest on his thighs. "How'd you take it?"

"Bad. Papa just wanted to forget. If me or Damien even _mentioned_ it, he'd yell. I only got to cry about it when I was asleep." I bite my lip, wondering why I just told him that. I only mentioned that particular part of my mother's death to _Brittany_ today.

He wraps an arm around my shoulders, giving me a tight squeeze. I no longer care that the sports teams are still around the school, that anyone could see this. I just relax for the first time in what feels like years, and rest my head on his shoulder.

A little part of me sets off an alarm, but I ignore it. Cause I honestly don't care that Kurt is the definition of 'the bottom of the food chain'. I guess we're kind of friends, now. Maybe. That's a shocker.

"Oh, look. It's the lesbros.", a voice says sarcastically.

I groan far back in my throat and rise, turning around as Kurt does the same. I just realized I've called and thought of him as 'Kurt' rather than anything else more times these past two days than I have in my entire time at WMHS, but disregard it as a coincidence. No way am I going soft. I'll have to call him Porcelain soon.

Kurt rolls his eyes dramatically in disdain. "Wow. How long did it take you to think up that one?"

I survey the group. I don't recognize them, and Azimio is hovering somewhere behind them all, looking uncertain.

That blonde guy gets way up in Kurt's grill. "What, you think you're better than me, fag-boy? You watch your back."

I flip my hair, placing a hand on the guys chest and giving him a push back. "You mess with him, you mess with me. You mess with me, and none of the Cheerios date you. You feel me, blondie?"

Some guy walks up behind him. "You aren't even a Cheerio anymore, Lez-Pez."

"We stick together, baby, and don't forget it. And if they won't listen to me, Britts is still tight with them." I feel a slight pang of sadness as I say her name, but it doesn't show.

An unexpected voice comes to aid in our defense. "Seriously guys, let's go."

Blondie turns towards Azimio menacingly. "What, you going gay, too?"

He clenches his fist. "No, dude. Just leave 'em alone."

"Whatever, man." The other guy pulls Blondie back. "Let's get outta here."

And then they're all gone. Kurt and I exchange a glance. I remember something.

"Well, Porcelain. You didn't do too bad."

"Neither did you, Satan. You're not quite as evil as I thought."

I nod, satisfied. "And you're not as much of a panty-waist as I thought. Friends?" I offer my hand to shake. He takes it.

"'Course."


	3. Chapter 3

hey guys! sorry for the wait, i've been a little distracted :).

so, i'm running out of ideas for this story, writers block and all, so any suggestions you have are appreciated!

there will be some pucktana bromance in here, for any of you who like that...

_thoughts_

_"cellphone"_

**texts**

enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

When I get up, nobody is home, as usual. I sigh and dress, steadily cutting myself a mango. I'm interrupted by the phone ringing.

I groan and walk around the island and grab the phone. When I speak, my voice portrays my irritation.

"Hello?"

_"Sup, dyke!"_

And then the bastards hang up. I roll my eyes and put the phone down. Yup, so brave.

I pick off a piece of mango, smiling serenely as I swallow the slightly slimy fruit. Whatever. It's a good kind of slimy, no, don't take it the wrong way.

I turn on the TV, putting on The Office. I fold up one of my legs and begin a yoga routine. No comment, it helps with my nerves.

I'm finished by ten thirty, and then I go upstairs and change into my _real _everyday clothes. I decide on a tank top and low-riders, paired with red wedges. I do my hair and my makeup, and check my cell.

There's a little gold envelope that signifies that I have a few messages, and a call sign that tells me I have a voicemail, as well. I sigh and check my texts first.

_(2) New Messages_

I press my thumb down on the screen, and Kurt's name is colored yellow. I raise an eyebrow and select it.

**hey, blain and i r going 2 tha lima bean round noon, u wan in?**

I roll my eyes at his text-talk skillz and look at the next one.

**r u not awak yet or sumthing, cuz you alwys have ur phne when ur conscious...?**

I smirk and select Reply.

**kk, ill meet u there.**

I move on to my voicemail.

_"Please supply your password, then press pound."_

I grudgingly oblige the computerized voice. _27488269_

_"You have...one...new voice message. Playing voice messages."_

I roll my eyes. _Get on with it, lady..._

When I hear the voice, I freeze, nearly dropping the phone. Because it's _her..._

_"Hey, Santana. It's Britt-Britt. Me and Artie got in a fight, and I think we might be broken up, and I was really sad, and I miss you. A lot. We used to be best friends. I just don't know what happened, and I realized that whenever I didn't know something before, you used to always tell me what happened. And it made me really sad 'cause you don't do that anymore. I really miss you in Glee, it's not the same without you. And Mercedes keeps talking about you with Kurt and his dolphin, and Rachel always tells Mercedes to shut up! And I don't get it, but you're n-not h-here to h-help me an-anymore. I really, really want to be friends with you, at least, if you aren't Lebanese anymore. Could you call me, or something? Bye, Sanny... Wait, how do you make the call go away? Y-you always t-told me how t-t-to do that!"_

She fades off into broken sobbing and I start to cry, too, because I know it's my fault. Eventually, the message just ends, she probably accidentally slid closed the top or something.

I bite my lip and text Kurt again.

**actlly, cnt make it, sumthing cam up, tell u l8r maybe**

Then I drop my phone on my couch and climb into my car and slam on the gas.

It takes me five minutes to get to Brittany's house. I run every red light, probably guaranteeing myself a few tickets, leave tire tracks at every corner, and nearly hit a dog, but it's worth it.

That familiar green door stares me down as I walk up, still shouldering my purse. I knock rapidly, wiping vainly at the tears running down my face.

The moment Brittany opens the door, I know something is wrong. Her lipstick is smeared. Her hair is a mess. She has a giggly smile spreading over her face, and her eyes are shining.

"S-Santana?", she laughs,"What are you doing here?"

I open my mouth to reply, but then I see _him. _On that stupid little wheelchair, the stupid little vest pulled over his goody-goody button-up t-shirt. A little bit of lipstick is around his mouth, his hair a mess, glasses missing, and frowning concernedly.

"Britt, I thought we agreed. No more Santana."

She smiles sweetly at me, albeit a little confused. "Sorry, Tanny. I can't talk to you."

And she slams the door in my face.

* * *

><p>I go straight home and cry my eyes out over a cup of hot chocolate. I eat my way through a whole box of Rice-Roni's Spanish Rice, and then cry more because if I do this, I'm going to get fat, and then I run nearly two miles on the treadmill and do extensive yoga for three and a half hours. Then, still unsatisfied, I go outside in my old Cheerio's uniform and practice a few of the old routines.<p>

When I get back inside, it's almost dark out. I change into my favorite Snoopy pajamas and check my cell again. I have five new texts.

_(3) Kurt Hummel_

_(1) Blaine Anderson_

_(1) Noah Puckerman_

I frown at it, checking the ones from Kurt.

**ok, call me about it l8r?**

Several hours later, he asked.

**Did u fall back asleep or sumthing? **

And another hour later-

**ok, whatevr, u usually would SAY if u rnt gonna talk bout it but kk**

I frown and look at the one from Blaine.

**are you dead or something? you always have your phone**

I smirk and look at the one from Puck.

**hey lezpez. heard about britt and artie. u wanna talk?**

I sigh and text Kurt back, promising to call him tomorrow. I tell Blaine that I'm perfectly alive, and text Puck back with two words.

**come over?**

**b there in five**

I lean back against the couch, tangling my hands in my lap. My throat aches horribly, but I'm out of tears.

I hear a car pull up and the doorbell rings. I shuffle up to it and open the door. Puck smiles just slightly at me. I step aside to let him come in.

He sits on the couch. We've known each other a little too well for that to be considered rude. He doesn't speak, just watches me and I fuss over a cup of coffee for him.

I sit down, handing it to him. He still just watches me. I feel I have to speak.

"I got this voicemail from her."

His eyes are drilling into mine and I sigh.

"She was so sad, she said she missed me, she started to cry, and I felt so bad... I went over to her place, right?"

He nods somberly. Somehow, it's all I need.

"And she opens the door, and... She's been making out with someone, I can tell, y'know? And she asks what I'm doing here, and I see his crippled ass behind her, and he says he 'thought they agreed' and she says she can't talk to me anymore. Closes the fucking door _in my face._"

I discover that I'm not totally out of tears as a few spill out of my eyes. I bury my face in my hands and I hear him curse ever so quietly. The couch shifts around me as he moves closer, wrapping an arm awkwardly around my shoulders. I shake my head.

"I-I just thought sh-she needed me, a-and she w-w-wanted t-to ha-have me aro-around, you know? But it was just cause that stupid wheelchair idiot wasn't around! She d-doesn't fucking care!"

Puck sighs. "Santana, she totally does. That girls crazy bout you. She just got attached to the wheelchair kid, and she thinks she needs him. But she'll get over it."

I look up, meeting his eyes.

"No, she won't."

He doesn't answer.

Puck doesn't leave until almost midnight, but when he does, the only thing that proves he was here at all is a cold cup of coffee on the table. Untouched.

* * *

><p>The phone rings three times before he picks up.<p>

_"Hello?"_

"Kurt? It's Santana... Is this a bad time?"

_"No, of course not. Blaine, move. What's up?"_

"D'you want to get coffee or something?"

_"Always."_

* * *

><p>Kurt is outraged at Brittany. And Artie, I guess. Blaine doesn't speak, occasionally nodding or something like that.<p>

"That's bull_shit._ He can't tell her not to talk to you. How could she choose him? She's known you for so much longer!", Kurt continues to rage.

I'm nodding emphatically, because although maybe I'm not stating it so flamboyantly, this is just what I really want to hear. Someone agrees with me.

Then we go back to Kurt's place and Finn almost vomits from shock when he sees me, and that reaction will probably never go away, and never stop being funny. Just the sort of pick-me-up I need right now.

Kurt gives me a facial while Blaine watches curiously, asking about random products and stuff. Kurt readily explains in this mellow, relaxed voice that he always takes on when fiercely concentrating.

I wind up staying for dinner, which is lasanga. Which is, like, amazing, but I'm going to have to work off the calories. Because my days of the Sue Sylvester Death Drink are over. Maybe.

We go back up to Kurt's room, and in about an hour, Blaine gets a call from his mom, and he kisses Kurt goodbye apologetically. Kurt does my nails and we watch all of the Saw movies. Who knew, right? Kurt's a total junkie. He's just, like, grabbing up popcorn while watching people get torn to shreds. It's inspiring.

He turns to me after the Final Chapter. "Doesn't your dad want you home?"

I shake my head. "He's not there. Or, if he is, he hasn't noticed I'm gone."

He looks concerned almost immediately. I realize his assumption and rapidly shake my head.

"No, he just works a lot. Whenever he gets home he's catching up on sleep. I say 'hi' to him about once a week."

"Aww." He smiles sympathetically. "That is so sad."

And then maybe because it's late, but for some reason we both just start crying, and I have no idea really why. He lends me a pair of old pajamas that don't really fit him any more, and we fall asleep on the floor of his room, talking about boys and girls and magazines and music and basically everything you could possibly think of.

It becomes a little ritual for us. Every Saturday night.

It's not like we'd have anything better to do.

* * *

><p><strong>The review-button-thingy doesn't bite. Go ahead and click on it. Or, if you're using you iPod, just touch it. It won't kill anyone.<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

hi guys! i'm in an awesome mood haha. okay, so i found the cure to my writers block. It's depressing

so. several ideas came to me, and they are starting right now, and if my muse-food is any hint to you, some serious angsty-ness (fail) is coming up. so grab a box of tissues right now, and a tub of ice cream. actually, forget the ice cream, that's way too many cals.

btw, with mercedes, i'm not trying to paint her as a bitch, if that's how it looks. She just misses being friends with Kurt, she hardly even knew he was friends with Santana, and she thinks that Santana kind of got what was coming to her. she didn't really know that this has been happening for a while, and she thinks that in the scene below on Santana's birthday, that she got what was coming to her. you'll understand what I'm saying as you read on...

_thoughts_

_"cellphone"_

**texts**

enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Kurt<strong>

I guess not everything can last forever. Not everything is Blaine and me.

Several months has passed since our Saturday night sleepovers started up. Santana and I have, strangely enough, turned into...friends. _Best _friends.

It's no secret that Mercedes and I are growing apart. I don't know, it started when my father got that heart attack. I insulted her beliefs, and she tried to shove her own at me. Something had slowly started to separate us.

She got closer and closer to Quinn, and I started spending more time with Tina and Brittany. It just happened. It was sad, but I got over it...surprisingly quickly.

Then Santana came along, and all my free non-Blaine time was pretty much occupied with either her or . Saturday nights are so freakin' fun, I actually start to wonder how I used to think she was nothing but an emotionless bitch...

And honestly, sometimes I was a little more comfortable around Santana than with Mercedes. Every now and then, Mercedes would throw out a little comment, not really meaning anything by it, like,"Why are all the good ones gay?", or, "It so sucks that you're gay.", and Santana didn't do that. Y'know, cause she wouldn't look at me like that anyway.

But Mercedes didn't get over it as quickly as I did, or something.

She approaches me in Glee.

"Hey, white boy.", she sits with me for the first time in months.

"Hey, 'Cedes.", I reply uncertainly.

She doesn't reply for a moment, then looks up at me. "We haven't hung out in, like, forever."

I shrug. "I guess."

She nods vaguely, and I wonder what she's getting at. All I really know is that this is, like, really awkward.

"Why...do you bring this up now?"

She shrugs, grinning at me. "You wanna come over Saturday? Stay for dinner, watch RENT, or something?"

I hesitate.

There are two ways of thinking about this. One is that Saturday is mine and Santana's night, sacred, not to be blown off for a freakin' zombie apocalypse. That it would be cruel to agree to go to Mercedes' place. That I should say no immediately.

The other is that I spend _ever_ Saturday night with Santana, so would it really hurt to watch RENT with Mercedes on just _one?_

I start to lean towards the other one. I nod slowly. "Okay."

But I didn't really realize that one Saturday would turn into two, three, four. Twelve. I don't even know how many, but eventually I stop even really feeling I have to call to tell her I won't be able to make it.

And it kind of hurts.

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

_'Pretty please..._

_I know it's a drag. _

_Wipe your eyes, and put up your head._

_Wish you could be happy inste-'_

I grab my phone, bringing to my ear with a sigh.

"Yeah?" Phone answering politeness skillz.

_"Hey, San. It's Kurt."_

I cross my legs. "Sup?"

_"So, about Saturday night..."_

I purse my lips. His tone is making me nervous.

_"I kinda can't make it. Mercedes asked me to go watch RENT, and I haven't talked her in _forever. _You understand, right?"_

I blink. _No. No, no I don't understand. _"Sure. Whatever. Talk to you later."

_"San-"_

I hang up.

* * *

><p>He blows me off for the next five weeks, and then he just stops calling me. Just doesn't show up. And I stop expecting him to. But no matter what I <em>know, <em>I can't stop hoping.

Kurt and Blaine had become my only friends. Blaine is still hesitant when it comes to McKinley, so he and Kurt are attached at the hip. Well, they always were. But Kurt doesn't talk to me much anymore, so neither does Blaine.

But the so very cold realization that we actually weren't friends anymore happened in the second floor girls' bathroom, in the middle of April.

Probably the worst birthday I ever had.

It just kind of sucked that I knew that everyone probably knew it was my birthday, from Facebook if not from the previous years, and the only person who wished me a happy birthday was some chunky blonde jock as he tossed a slushy into my face.

I broke down, right there. In the middle of a crowded hallway. I dropped my binder and started to cry, hot tears melting tracks through the flavored ice on my face.

And a bunch of people started to laugh. I catch a glimpse of Mercedes covering a smile with her hand and nudging Kurt, who starts to turn.

I bolt. The girls bathroom door slammed shut behind me, and I wish it had a lock. I pull out a towel and start to furiously rub at my face, tears still streaming down my cheeks. I tear off my shirt and pull my spare out of my bag, tugging it over my head.

I want to scream as I stare at my reflection in the grimy mirror, the lights above me flickering rapidly. I sigh. This is the crappy bathroom. The Cheerios don't let me into the good one anymore.

There is mascara, like, all over my face. I sigh and pull out my make-up bag. The door opens.

I look. Kurt and Mercedes. Mercedes blushes, glances at the floor, mutter something, turns on her heel and walks out. Kurt freezes.

I wonder for a moment if he's going to help me wash my hair, scrub my binder clean, the way he and Blaine might've a few months ago. I would've done it for him. We're friends, or, we were.

But no. His eyes drop to the ground, and he turns around and follows Jones. I sigh, pulling out my mascara and makeup removing wipes, and get to work.

* * *

><p>Brittany is rummaging around in her locker when I walk up to mine. She's muttering about penguins, to my confusion, and suddenly sighs.<p>

"Where the hell'd I put..."

I clear my throat softly. "Do you need help...? Did you lose something?"

She looks over at me, studying the floor. She looks conflicted, then glances around the hall. She smiles secretively.

"Yeah. Artie gave me a necklace for my birthday, and I can't find it! I'm sure it was in here..."

I frown, suppressing the urge to cry all over again. "What does it look like?"

"It was one of those 'open hearts' things, from the commercials?" She steps aside, and I look around in her locker. It's in the back, hanging off of a stud that decorates a picture of her and Artie. My eyes start to prickle.

I hand her the necklace. "Here." My voice cracks.

She smiles brightly. "Thanks, Santana!" She turns around, and I can't stop myself. I grab her arm.

She looks at me. "Is...something wrong?"

I look at the floor. No going back now. "I miss you.", I say softly.

"I told Artie we wouldn't talk anymore. Lying's mean."

"Why can't you just leave him? He's just a stupid boy." My throat is getting dry.

"I love him, San. I really do. I'm sorry. You... I care about you, a lot, but you need to get over this... Please..."

She starts to walk again.

"Wait, Brittany.", I call feebly.

She stops.

"Did... Do you love me? Please say you love me."

She sighs. "You were my best friend. I meant what I said. If Artie and I don't work out..."

I shake my head. "Whatever. Stay with the damn cripple, I don't care. He can...he can have you."

And I walk away.

* * *

><p>When I get home, my dad isn't there, as usual. I jump straight into the shower.<p>

The hot water pounds into my back, and I sigh, grabbing my razor to start shaving my legs. I bite my lip and just sit down on the floor of the shower, not wanting to be very productive at the moment.

I have my razor in a death grip, and I haven't washed my face yet, so mascara and eyeliner and streaming down my cheeks and getting in my eyes. Water droplets drip off of my eyelashes until I can't tell if I'm crying or not.

Then I know I'm crying 'cause I start to sob, and I raise the razor to my wrist with a shaking hand. My vision is getting blurry.

_...you need to get over this..._

I start to slide it across, wincing as the cut forms.

_I love him, Santana, I really do..._

Blood streams from the cut, mixing with the water around my feet.

_I'm sorry._

It floods down the drain and I start to cry harder, lifting the razor back to my wrist.

_You're my best friend._

How could four words hurt so much?

My hand is shaking too much and I drop the razor, sobs wracking my body. _  
><em>

_You're not sorry..._

* * *

><p>I must have blacked out, because I find myself waking up laying in my shower, blood still seeping from a series of cuts on my wrist, and the water, now cold, pouring down on my bare legs.<p>

I get out of the shower and dress slowly, wrapping a few bandages on my right wrist. It's eleven pm, but I make myself a mocha, sighing heavily.

I sit down on the couch, sighing heavily, sipping the drink, turning the TV on.

I watch How I Met Your Mother until two am. Then I switch channels and start watching The Office, making my fifth mocha.

I don't sleep until five am, and I decide I won't be going to school tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

hey! so, thanks to ppl who reviewed/favorited/alert, also, i got a few more author alerts/favs, so thanks to you people too. xD

my muse is still happily (or, well, they aren't 'happy' ideas) in my ear incessantly. now, if only that would happen for one last thing...

sorry this is a little short, i just didn't want anyone to find out about anything in this chapter, so...

_thoughts_

_"Cellphone"_

**texts**

enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

I fill up my water bottle with Stolichinaya before I go to school.

I don't eat breakfast. Who needs it?

Nowadays, I have three key components to my everyday life. Vodka, diet pills, and a sharp, sharp razor, or something of the like.

The alcohol... It just takes the edge off. Dulls that little knife thats tearing away at my sanity. Diet pills, because I figured out why Brittany doesn't like me anymore. I'm nowhere near as good looking as her. She's toned, lean...perfect. I've got all this stupid flab. And I know how Britt is with relationships. She thinks that you have to look the part, be balanced boht physically and emotionally, and next to her, I might as well be Zizes. And the razor... I just can't let go of that...release. I need it.

I wander in to school, stumbling slightly, the vodka blurring my senses. Someone approaches me. I know I know them, but I can't put a name to that face. Their voice echoes annoyingly in my ears, I can't understand them.

They shake their head at me and walk away.

The day flies by. My teachers ignore me. I have no friends. No one talks to me.

After sixth period, I drag my feet up to my locker and fumble with it until it opens. I drop a few books inside, and bring my water bottle to my lips, taking a long sip. I tug my pills from the back of my locker and drop two down my throat, swallowing with some difficulty.

Someone appears in front of me. They start to talk, and do you remember how I'm a 'weepy drunk'?

They start talking, I start crying.

"What the- Santana?"

Whoever it is, I can't tell, puts a hand on my shoulder, making me jump and wince. I don't know why, but for some reason, the physical contact is making me expect to be hit.

Something large and heavy slams into my right side. My back hits the lockers.

"Sup, dyke?"

I start crying more, and I slide down the lockers to sit on the floor. I hear my locker close and the lock clicks. The noise makes my head hurt. I cover my eyes.

"Santana, what the hell? What did you just take? Are you sick or something? Were those painkillers?"

I shake my head incoherently. "Nah. Those're my pretty pills!"

"Wha... Pretty pills? Blaine!"

Footsteps. Another face appears in my line of vision, Blaine. I can see a blurred face, a dark shadow over the top. What's that stuff? Hare...? No, that's a rabbit.

They're speaking. I can't hear them.

"Santana?" I blink. "Santana, can you hear me? What are 'pretty' pills? Santana?"

My bottle is pulled from my hand. The first one is still trying to talk to me, and I still can't really completely stop crying.

"Kurt? Kurt, this isn't water."

I don't remember anything after that.

For all I know, that was a dream, or my imagination, because the next thing I know, I'm laying on my couch, and a bottle of my sleeping pills are on the coffee table. But I can't find that water bottle. Whatever. I'll just grab another one.

* * *

><p>I'm left alone until Spanish, which I have sixth period. I'm walking out of class, itching to take a drink, when Mr. Schue stops me.<p>

"Santana, a moment."

I huff and turn around, walking back in to stand by his desk. "Yes?"

"Well, a few of your...former teammates spoke to me about..." He sighs. "How've you been?"

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"How have you been holding up?", he asks, cautious.

I slowly raise a single eyebrow, quirking up my lips in the signature you-bout-to-get-told face. "I'm sorry, but since when did you care? Since when did any of your perfect little flowers care? Because the last time I checked, oh, let's see..." I tap my chin. "Yeah, it _was _you, right, who kicked me out on my ass from a supposed family for 'disloyalty'?" I laugh humorlessly. "How fucking ironic."

I turn on my heel, but he grabs my arm.

"Santana, I was not fair. At all. I-I won't name any names, but several of the Glee club members did far worse than that, and received no punishment. I've heard that you've been having a...rough time, and I realize this, and I wanted to invite you back into Glee Club."

I flip my hair and place a hand on my lip, glaring defiantly at him. "Okay, we both know that you only even _recognized _that I messed up because I'm not as _talented_ as Rachel, and I'm not as nice as Quinn, and you _think_ I'm smarter than Brittany. I'm a bitch to everyone, I get that. But I don't really think I asked for that much. You offered acceptance." I shrug. "If you think you gave it, you needa get your fucking mind right."

He presses his lips together and sits down, and I whirl around and storm out of Spanish.

* * *

><p>Weeks pass, turning into months. And nothing changes.<p>

Nobody talks to me. I don't show up at school half the time. No one notices. No one cares.

I start having to bring two extra pairs of clothes to school. My back has turned basically completely black from bruising.

And I'm so, so, so, so, so _fucking tired_ of crying.

My wardrobe has altered so harshly, it's a little scary. I've gone from crop shorts and tube tops to hoodies and dark jeans. I ditch PE so no one can see my arms. My hair is always down, frequently tangled. Even my makeup is darker.

I walk into school with my hood pulled up, earbuds in. Several people always shove me into the lockers before school. It's second nature, now, to just automatically brace myself for the impact whenever someone starts to walk towards me. And that's a good thing. That's the only reason anyone would be looking for me now anyway.

I'm always late for second period because I spend a few extra minutes at my locker to get another drink and smoke a cigarette. I usually get a slushy sometime around then, too.

When I visit my locker before third period, I always swallow two more of my well-stocked cheap-shit diet pills. With their help, I'm don't want food for another 4 hours. And for the next six hours, if I eat, than I get horrible stomach pains. I don't mind. It's good, right?

Before fourth period, I have another smoke, another gulp or two of vodka, and I redo the bandages on my wrists. It's usually around there that, if it happened, I find the vandalisms on my locker.

After fourth period is lunch. The second slushy always comes than, and that occupies most of my lunch period, so just another good reason to skip.

After fifth period, it's another cigarette. Three hefty swigs of Stoli. Three to five people slam me into lockers. Half of fifth period crying in the bathroom.

After sixth period, school is over. Hood up. Earbuds back in. Sunglasses on, cause the light hurts. On my way out of school, one of the jocks always grabs me. Stuffs me in either a dumpster or a porta-potty. If the dumpster, get out as soon as they're gone, walk home. If it's the porta-potty, than if I'm lucky, someone lets me out the next morning. I always have my cellphone, but no one picks up when I call. No one responds to my texts. If I'm not lucky, than the next after school, at around four, the janitor's come around because they finally notice one of the porta-potties got tipped.

And if a person cares to see it, you can find most of these videos up on Jacob Ben Israel's blog.

I get home. Drink a SlimFast. Go for a run. Shower. I grab my razor afterwards, head to my room. I come out an hour or so later, eat a piece of pizza. I can never keep it down, I wind up retching and heaving over the kitchen sink. TV. Bed.

It's a routine. I'm miserable, but it goes around and around and a-fucking-round and it will never. Fucking. Stop.

And nobody ever notices.


	6. Chapter 6

hey! so here is chapter six... fast updates, unless i don't finish this soon...um...

I'm kind of tying in a story that I was sort of starting but then wound up not called 'details in the fabric', named for the amazing jason mraz song. so, for any of you wevid fans out there...yeah, that couple is going to be featured. a lot. be prepared to be basically driven out of your sanity...

don't worry, brittana is going to happen :)

ANYWAYYYYYY XD

_thoughts_

_"cellphone"_

**texts**

enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Kurt<strong>

I almost get him to drop it. Almost.

My lips have been on his neck for the last half hour, and he almost forgot about it. But no.

Blaine abruptly pushes me off. "No. Kurt! There's something up."

I groan. "Her wardrobe habits have changed, yes, but that doesn't mean anything! She will murder you if she finds out we spoke about this."

"Bu-"

"No buts!"

"Well, I'm a making a but!" We lock eyes and burst out laughing.

I run a hand through my hair. "We have kindergarten senses of humor."

He shakes his head. "But seriously."

I sigh. "Whatever. _If _you aren't hallucinating, what would you even do about it?"

Blaine has not shut up about Santana since her little episode in the hall after school a few months ago. Her bottle was full of vodka. That's not good, and we got rid of it! I have to admit that I only see her a few times in the halls, but still. She seems relatively normal.

Blaine thinks that the 'pretty pills' are bad news or something. And he said that there was something weird on her wrist, but it was probably some kind of bracelet or something.

There's nothing wrong.

At least, I can tell myself that.

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

I have to ditch fifth and sixth period today. I got slushied once again as I walked out of the bathroom after cleaning up my second slushy, so I had to leave.

I'm not walking around with melting, flavored ice all over my face.

And I can't take this any more.

I shut myself in the bathroom. My hand trembles visibly as I tug a brand new razor out of the package under the sink.

I press harder than usual.

_Close your eyes. A slip of the hand. You feel it dripping onto your legs. Press. Slip. Drip. Over and over._

A pattern. I've always been good at puzzles.

I'm getting dizzy, but I don't stop. It's too soon. My head spins. My vision tips. My stomach twists. The razor falls from my grip, landing with a clatter at my ankles. I can't breathe. I can't see.

And I go out like a light.

* * *

><p>I'm hit with a wave of bitter disappointment when I wake up. My vision is a little blurry, from God knows what, and all I can really see is a blur of white.<p>

My hopes rise for a moment⎯maybe it worked after all⎯but then I realize that I hurt way too much for that to be true.

My vision starts to clear, and the annoying beeping becomes comprehensible. I'm in a hospital bed. The heart monitor is beeping away irregularly. And my hands are strapped to the bed with those restraints that I'd seen on Grey's Anatomy.

And it's all too _real, _and in focus, and I'm missing that familiar numbness, which just draws attention to the fact that I'm alone. No one came to visit me. There are no gifts or notes anywhere that would tell me that someone _was _here. Did no one care?

I feel tears pooling in my eyes, and I want to turn so I can hide my face in the thin pillow that's underneath my head, but I can't. I'm strapped to the bed.

The tears are literally forming a layer over my eyes, which kind of stings, and is really annoying. My door opens.

My father strides in, wearing his normal work clothes and holding a clip board. He's frowning, staring at the paper on the board, his expression disappears as he notices I'm awake.

"Mija...", he starts quietly.

I brace myself.

"Just what the _hell_ were you thinking? _Dios mio!_ Why would you do something like that?", he rages.

I study the sheets. "I don't know."

He sits in one of the chairs, dropping the clip board on his lap. "What would...possess you to even _think_..." He trails off.

A broken expression flashes across his face, and I realize for a moment what my death would've done to my Papi. He already lost my mother, Nate is off in college; what would he even do if I went, too?

I find myself holding back sobs. "I'm sorry, Papi. It's just been...really...tough at school."

His eyebrows snap together. Papi is not a stupid man. "How so?"

I frown. "Just the other kids are asses."

He raises an eyebrow. "Is this about that friend of yours, the blonde? Brittany?"

"Sorta. Not just her, though..."

He sighs. "What else? Do people do that thing with the drinks to you?", he asks sharply.

I wince, nodding. He scowls.

"What about the thing with the toilets you used to talk about?"

"Well...that and the dumpsters..."

"_What? _Mija...maybe you should not go to this school anymore."

I'm about to start protesting, but then I find that I...sort of want to leave. "O...kay."

He sighs. "I'm going to need to talk to those 'friends' of yours. Why don't they help you?"

I bite my lip. "I kind of don't have any friends, Papi."

He raises his eyebrows but doesn't comment. "We'll send you to private school. Something with a good no-bullying policy..." He thinks for a long moment. "Didn't your friend...He...K...B..." He gives up on the name. "Didn't one of your friends go to a private school like that?"

I think. "Well, yeah. But it was all-boys."

"Huh... Is there a sister school? I went to an all-boys Catholic school, and it had a sister school..."

I shrug. "Maybe."

The sister school wound up being called Crawford Country Day, which I personally think is a ridiculous name for a school. And I'm going to start there as soon as I get out of this damn hospital.

I don't really care. I can waste my energy wishing I was with the people back in Lima, but it's not like they're going to be missing me.

* * *

><p><strong>No POV<strong>

Santana has been delisted from all of her classes, and no one knew why. When Mr. Schue saw that she'd been taken out of his Spanish class, he'd assumed it was a schedule change. Nothing serious.

He'd mentioned it to Figgins in a meeting, and the principal told him that Santana had been taken out of school, that she'd be going somewhere else soon. Figgins proceeded to moan about how Mr. Lopez had ranted to him over the phone for nearly half-an-hour about how their rules regarding bullies were far too lax.

Will is confused at how these two connected, but shrugs it off. It can't be anything important.

Puck, of all people, vaguely mentioned, almost in passing, that any calls to her cell are non-responsive. Several of the Glee club members noted that either she blocked them all on Facebook, or she deleted her own.

About a month later, Santana Lopez popped back up on the 'Recommended Friends' for most of Glee club, through Wesley Montgomery and David Thompson. For Kurt and Blaine, they could see that she was friends with the majority of the Warblers, a large quantity of the other Dalton students, and a bunch of unfamiliar female names. Her pictures had her portrayed in plaid skirts and button down tops, knee socks and head bands, and accompanied by usually a few Dalton boys, or, as were vaguely recognized, a few of the other girls in the Crawford Country Day uniform.

And she looked happy. There was a light in her eyes that was now painfully obvious to have disappeared during her last few months at McKinley. She was perhaps a little thinner than they all remembered, but she was smiling widely.

However, one thing could not be ignored.

There was one picture of her with two other Crawford girls and three Dalton boys (Wes, David, and Nick), standing in the Central Commons that separates Dalton and Crawford. She has her right arm up to shield her eyes from the sun, and it's all over her right wrist. A myriad of scars.

And it starts coming back.

Kurt and Blaine retell the story of the vodka and the 'pretty pills'. Each and every one of them can mention at least a dozen times that they saw Santana get slushied, shoved into a locker, dropped in a dumpster, or worse. They couldn't even count the number of times they heard her called a dyke, seen her stumbling down the halls with her hair in her face, caught her dropping a few pills down her throat. They never said anything.

And it makes sense.

And they can't really hold that grudge against her any more than they could ever hold it against Kurt.

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

They really can't leave me alone.

Since I made my knew Facebook account, I've been bombarded with friend requests from the New Directions. Well, actually, (and unbeknownst to Kurt) the Glee clubs at Crawford and Dalton... Well, we call them the Nude Erections. Now that I think of it, Mr. Schue totally should've turned his dirty thinking caps on when he thought of this name, because then, no one could call us⎯them⎯the freakin' Nude Erections.

The Crawford Glee club is called the Cardinals. We're noncompetitive for the most part, but we do sometimes tie in with the Warblers more complicated performances at Sectionals, and so on. We're actually probably going to be doing that a lot this year, because Wes's Council Mode (which he inadvertently diverts to at the strangest times) has decided that their lack of dancing cost them the win. Because seriously. It's a little awkward to make a group of straight guys dance together in the same way that Vocal Adrenaline or the Nude Erections can. Or 'Oral' Intensity.

No, I don't need to grow up. They need a name besides Aural Intensity.

I've met a lot of awesome new people, but I do have a close-knit group of friends. See, the Crawford girls used to inwardly swoon whenever they saw a Dalton boy. They thought they were all amazing.

But the only two people I knew when I came here was a vague acquaintance with Wes and David formed over a few unmentionable activities.

Through Wes and David, I befriended Nick, Jeff, Brock, and James. Brock and James aren't actually Warblers, I'd had this weird perception that at Dalton, the Warblers were only friends with each other. Totally not true.

Then, at Crawford, I'm pretty tight with Katy and Jenna, who are fellow Cardinals. And then my roommate, Mariah.

Classes are fun, and the guys always meet up with us after school to wander around the Commons and do homework and stuff, so that's fun.

The Commons is basically where everything is. Dalton's lunch is at a different time than Crawfords, so we don't see each other, but on the Commons, you can basically go up to an island a buy whatever you want. There's a smoothie place, a deli style thing with sandwiches, a coffee place. It's basically got it all.

I got onto the Cardinals, which is totally awesome. We're already rehearsing possible numbers for Sectionals with the Warblers. Since we aren't competitive, we don't really have a Council. We just vote on everything, it goes to popular opinion.

And I don't have to hide anything anymore. I'm completely out at Crawford, and by default, Dalton as well, and no one cares. It's exhilarating. I don't have to hide my scars, everyone who matters knows the story. I changed my number.

The only little shadow that falls on my life now is from Facebook, actually. I keep getting messages, friend requests, and all that shit from the New Directions. I really, really don't want to get back in with them. Wes would probably strangle me, anyway. They're the competition, right?

Which is funny, cause he's still friends with Kurt and Blaine. Hypocrite much?

I sigh, but it's a happy sigh. My phone buzzes.

**From: Jay-Jay**

**get u ass up. ur needed in the commons 5 sec ago**

I roll my eyes, smirking.

**b there yesterday**

I drop my phone in my messenger bag and shoulder it, straightening my light green head band. It's part of the dress-code.

I actually don't hate the uniform. I guess a lot has changed for me.

I guess I kind of miss Kurt and Blaine, and Brittany, but whatever. They probably forgot about me a while ago.

My iPod lets out this little bell-like noise that's either from Facebook, or maybe Twitter. Shut up, I only use it so I can message my cousins. I tug it out of my bag, continuing to walk.

It's Facebook.

_Friend Request: Kurt Hummel_

I sigh. Yeah. Totally forgotten.

_Ignore._

* * *

><p><strong>The review button sometimes passes out free cookies, but you should hit it a lot, because you never know when you'll get lucky :)<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

hey! so i've been very indecisive about this. i don't know whether I want brittana to end up together or not. So, if I don't place Santana with Brittany, she'll be with wes, david, or some crawford country girl, most likely Mariah. Yes, i understand she's a lesbian, but i also understand the she's new to that area, and I LOVE brittana usually, but i just don't know how huge of a thing it'll have to be for the ND to redeem themselves, because 'sing a song and happy-joy-joy' is not gonna cut it. but what i was trying to say is that i think she could POSSIBLY be bisexual.

so, this chapter is just little examples of Mariah/Santana and Wes/Santana.

anyway, tell me what YOU think. because i do take that into account, especially when i have no idea what to do. u guys read my stuff, and that's kind of why i write it :). i won't ignore your ideas.

they're juniors, by the way...

anyway, i'll get on with it now.

_thoughts_

_"cellphone"_

**texts**

enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

A shot glass shoved sloppily into my hand. Salt sprinkled all over my midsection. Messy kisses with a nameless face. Crawling onto the table, a bottle of Sam Adams in my hand as I start to grind drunkenly on a stranger. Laughing like an idiot as we run across the Common. A pair of stilettos are in my hands. Dry heaving in the bathroom. Passing out on someone's bed, the last scent I took in being the reek of alcohol coming off of me.

Yes, a crazy-shit birthday party. David just turned sixteen, and we threw him a huge party. I drank more than I did at Berry's attempt at a party. I didn't cry half as much, though... I also had half as many articles of clothing on by the end.

And now, I have twice as much of a damn hangover. My head is pounding horribly, I'm nauseous, and I smell like a mini-bar. I feel a surge in my abdomen and keel over, but there's nothing in my stomach for me to throw up. There's a groan from up on the bed. James is sitting up, pressing his palms to his eyes.

The day is a pained blur. There's no school, so that's a relief, but there's still food to be eaten, lights...and lights...

And the next day... I was still slightly hungover, but the nausea had faded, so it was bearable. After school, we met out on the Commons to do homework.

I lie out on my stomach in the grass, my binder in front of me and my messenger bag off to my side. The sky is cloudy. It's going to rain soon.

Nick and James join Mariah, Katy, Jenna and I, shortly followed by Wes, David, Jeff, and Brock.

They brought the leftover pizza from the party.

We all roll our eyes and grab a piece or two, because it whatever, it really does have to go, and it is _reallyreallyreally _good.

And before I know it, I've eaten three over-sized slices. My stomach is churning, and I bite my lip, grabbing for the box as Wes takes the last slice. He smirks at me.

"Too late, pig.", he teases me. My heart drops and I attempt to smile, but it comes out as a grimace.

I turn it around to the bottom, scanning over the nutrition information. Some strange, three-year-old part of me is hoping that it will be about zero calories per serving. It's not.

480 calories per eighth. 28 grams of fat, most of it trans. Nearly 2000 milligrams of sodium. My brow wrinkles.

Maybe some other person would shrug it off, say that it's okay to splurge every _once_ in a while. But it's not quite the same. I ate over a third of that pizza. And that is _the most _food I've had in one sitting since I got released from the damn hospital.

My hand is twitching. I purse my lips. "I'll be back in ten...or something. Gotta get something from the dorm."

Mariah gives me a suspicious look and everyone nods vaguely. I turn to walk away.

Ten minutes later, I find myself leaning over the table, stretching a shaking finger into my mouth.

I retch. _No... _Again. _No... _I try again, and start to heave. A sick kind of satisfaction fills me as it all starts to come back up.

At least I can do something right.

And then the door opens.

"Santana, finally, what took you so..." Mariah trails off. I slowly stand to face her, struggling not to fall as the tremors that always come after vomiting begin to take over my legs.

"What are you..." Her eyes look a little wet. "I thought you were over this. You _said _you were over this."

I stutter pointlessly. "I..."

The tears and disappointment change to anger. "Wh-what the hell were you thinking? Don't you know we care about you? How can you do this?" She shakes her head at me. "You're not the only one that you're hurting anymore, Tana. Do you even care?" Her eyes bore into me. "Do you?"

My voice comes out a shaky whisper. "I... I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know..." I hesitate. "I don't know where I'm at."

She smiles sadly. "Then find out."

She turns around and then she's gone.

* * *

><p>I'm sitting outside Crawford. It's dark out, and the sky is pitch black, clouds covering all the stars. I'm standing on the lawn, leaning against the old-shit willow tree. Heavy drops are falling onto my head from the leaves. I sigh.<p>

_Do you?_

Of course I do. They're the best friends I've ever really had.

_Do you?_

I sigh shakily.

Rain doesn't do anything to conceal footsteps. I hear it easily, especially since the person in question is incredibly clumsy.

"_Shit. _Fuck. Me. Damn it. Ow."

I roll my eyes, turning to face him. "What do you want, prep-boy?"

He casually leans against the tree as if he hadn't just fallen flat on his face. "I thought we were past that."

I shrug. "Maybe."

"Mariah told us...y'know, what you did."

I chew on my lip, wondering what sort of stance to take. "I don't know what your talking about."

He ignores me. "You don't have to do that, San."

I purse my lips and don't answer.

He sighs, sounding aggravated. "Santana."

I turn to face him. I can't hardly make him out, just an outline, but his eyes are glinting slightly. "Wesley."

"Just promise me, the next time you feel like...that, or anything that you used to do, just call me. No matter when it is. Okay?"

I feel my eyes prickling. "Wh...what?"

"That's what friends do.", he says softly.

I blink. _Friends. _"I promise."

He grins at me, tugging me into a hug. I roll my eyes.

"Now. Let's go inside, you're soaking wet, and I'm soon to be." He sighs and seems to have a momentary inner battle before shrugging helplessly. "That's what she said."

* * *

><p><strong>sorry for the uuber short chapter. as i said, this is just a taste of my possible couples, or if you guys still say so, brittana is still being considered. I seriously need some feedback on this, because I'm completely torn.<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

hey guys!

So, first off, shout out to Yurixzi for an awesome idea :)

anyway, i have narrowed it down to either brittany or mariah. i'm sort of leaning towards mariah, but still not sure. wes is going to be placed with David, but i think he and santana will still be really close friends

so, i have decided on the song choices for sectionals. The first is going to be a Wevid duet of Whataya Want From Me, by Adam Lambert. The second will be a group number, an acapella version of Say (All I Need), by OneRepublic, and the third will be Playing God, by Paramore, with Santana as the lead. The Nude Erections will have Rachel start out with He Is We's Pardon Me, then a group number of Homecoming, by Hey Monday, and closing with Puck, on 21 Guns by Green Day. Thoughts?

So, yeah, not that close to a decision. I guess i'm taking a poll. please review on that!

Disclaimer-Glee doesn't belong to me, and all those songs belong to the respective artists.

_thoughts_

_"cellphone"_

**texts**

enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

I wake up in a cold sweat. My wrist is throbbing painfully. I glare at it. It hasn't hurt at all in months.

I sigh. Is that even really pain? Maybe...

No. I'm over that.

I wander aimlessly into the bathroom. There's a pack of brand new razors under the sink. I stare at the cabinet, my fingers twitching from temptation.

I crease my brow as I stare at the cabinet. It's too easy. That thing should be padlocked.

_But you don't want it to be._

I exhale slowly and exit the bathroom. I don't need this.

_But you want it._

I wish that the little voices in the back of my head could be given death glared, but they aren't visible. I start to dig around in my bag, and pull out my cellphone. Wes is the second to last person on my contacts, right above 'Voicemail'.

He answers in the middle of the fifth ring.

_"'Lo?"_

I hesitate for a long moment.

_"Uh...who is this..." _There's a pause. _"OH! Santana? Hello?"_

I chew on my lip. "Yeah."

_"What's wrong? Are you okay? What happened?"_

I pause. "I just wanted to talk. My... I almost... Um..."

_"Okay... OW! Do you want to meet somewhere...in the outside place? David's throwing shit at me. OUCH, DAMN IT!"_

"Yeah...sure."

_"Okay. See you in five. Outside the back doors of Dalton, cause if I walk any farther than that, I think I'll fall asleep somewhere and get raped in my sleep."_

I scoff. "Around here? This is the opposite of ghetto."

_"Hey. Don't...um...ignore?...my swag." _There's a tired sounding snort, and a different voice, vaguely recognizable as David, says,_,"Iss 'hate on'. Turn it off speaker, man." _

Wes pauses for a long moment. _"O...kay..." _There's a muffled voice, and then David mutters something indistinguishable.

"Yeah. I'll see you in five. You don't have to get dressed unless you're, like, naked."

_"Damn. I have to get dressed. See ya.", _he replies sarcastically.

"Mm-hmm."

He hangs up and I grab a jacket and throw it over my tank top, leaving my Spongebob pajama pants on. I tug on a pair of bunny slippers that I got from Jay-Jay, drop my cell on my bed, grab my dorm keys, and stride out the door. Mariah doesn't wake.

Wes is leaning against the large back entrance of Dalton when I get there. He looks so different than usual. He's wearing sweatpants that I'm pretty sure belong to David and an old looking t-shirt, and his usually neatly done hair is in a disarray that shocks me. You wouldn't think a person with hair that short would be able to do that.

He grins at me and says tiredly,"Whazzup, girlie?" I roll my eyes.

"Call me that again, and I'll tear your balls off." I reply tonelessly.

"I'll remember. I think. Adorable shoes, by the way. But seriously."

So I just sigh and lean against a pillar, tossing my hair out of my face. "I almost...kind of..." I glance at my wrist, and the way his eyebrows snap together tells me that he understands.

"Why?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I had a nightmare. And then I went into the bathroom, and they were just _right there._"

"Whadja dream about?"

I cock my head. "I don't remember."

He smiles. "Okay, I know what you need." I raise an eyebrow. He scoffs."Mind out of the gutter, San. You need..." He thinks for a long moment, something that I didn't know Wes was capable of. "...candy. Edible happiness."

I grin. "That actually sounds pretty good."

* * *

><p>It's the strangest thing<p>

I remember David and Wes's dorm, I remember grabbing the candy and running like hell as David threw a mixture of curse words and pillows. He has a friggin' lot of pillows.

And I remember the dining hall of Dalton, and running again when the janitor came in when we dropped a bench while trying to put it down. I remember the English classroom, sitting on the teacher's desk and devouring gummy worms. I sure as hell remember what we were talking about, but I'll get into that later.

And I vaguely remember laying down on something soft, no idea what.

But I have no idea how I got back to this dorm.

I am lying on my bed, in my dorm. My slippers are dirtier than they were last night, but by my bed as usual. Mariah's bed is neatly made and unoccupied. I almost could've believed that I just dreamed up what went down last night, but when I get up, there's a plastic bag filled with gummy worms on my desk, and a yellow Post-It with a happy face grinning up at me. I smile slightly. How very Wes.

I leave it and dress slowly in my uniform, because even on the weekends, boarders (such as myself) have to be in uniform.

I stroll down to the dining hall to check if I missed breakfast or not. I did, but whatever. I'm never hungry in the mornings anyway.

Breakfast abandoned, I turn a corner and sit boredly on a windowsill, examining my nails. I need to redo them...

"There you are!"

I turn around, sliding off the sill. Mariah is striding towards me, a delicious looking bagel in her hands. I grin at her.

"Hey! What's up?"

She smiles, holding out the bagel for me. "You slept through breakfast, so I grabbed this before I left. But you weren't in the dorm. Take it, I got it for you."

"Aw. You didn't have to." I accept her offering. "Thanks."

She shrugs."I thought you'd be hungry. Where'd you go last night? I woke up and you're bed was empty."

I shake my head. "I don't know, everywhere? Wes and I grabbed a bunch of candy and went out on the Commons."

She glances around awkwardly. "So... I thought you were...lesbian?"

I laugh. "I am. It's not like that, Wes is into someone else anyway." I grin slightly.

Her eyebrows rise and she leans against the sill next to me. "Gossip? Who?"

I shake my head. "My lips are sealed. I promised I wouldn't tell."

She pouts, and a smile rises on my face because it's completely adorable. "Pleeeaaase?", she whines childishly.

I pause for a moment before replying. _Adorable? She's you're best friend. You don't want another Brittany escapade. _"I'm not telling.", I say firmly.

Her eyes get big, and her lower lips sticks out ever the more, and she gazes into my eyes pleadingly. "Please, Santana?"

I groan. "It's David. Don't tell."

She gasps, clapping her hands together. "I KNEW IT!"

I shush her hastily, but she just grins at me, and grabs my hand. "C'mon, let's go outside. It's really nice out."

I allow her to tug me along with her, all to conscious of how well our hands fit together.

So, yes. Wes is gay. That's what we talked about last night.

_I drop another gummy worm into my mouth. He grins wolfishly at me, causing me to roll my eyes._

_"So.", he asks,"Any new girls?"_

_I shrug. "Nah, don't think so. You and Alexa broke it off, right?"_

_He nods. "Yeah. I wasn't really into her."_

_I raise an eyebrow. "Any new girls?", I echo, smirking at him._

_"Well...there is someone. But h...they don't like me like that."_

_I blink. Did he just almost say 'he'? "Is...this person a girl?"_

_And he didn't answer._

_I purse my lips. "Is it David?"_

_He glares at me. "Am I that obvious?"_

_I shrug. "I got skills."_

_"Obviously. Keep your mouth shut, okay? If he finds out... I mean, he's straight."_

_I nod vaguely. "Promise." I offer my pinkie finger, even though it brings up painful memories. He rolls his eyes and curls his own little finer around mine, grinning. _

I'm not so sure that David's straight. But I don't want to get Wes's hopes up in case I'm wrong.

Mariah and I almost run into the door as we shove it open, and she continues to pull me out onto the grass. She lays down, a serene smile lighting up her face. She pats the place next to her. I smile in return and lie down.

She sighs happily, staring up at the clouds. I glance over at her, briefly admiring the way her smooth coppery locks intermingle with my raven ones. She meets my gaze, and a smile lights her face. I feel her hand slip into mine, fingers interlocking.

I smile, biting down on my lower lip, and turn my attention back to the clouds. She exhales slowly and I feel her cheek resting on my shoulder. My eyelids start to droop, and the bigger part of me is hoping that time will just stop right here.

So that we can always be happy.

* * *

><p>We're in our joint rehearsals with the Warblers, for sectionals. The competition is in under a month, and although we've decided on our songs, we still aren't totally sure who is going to do the lead for the first number.<p>

After a lengthy trial of auditions, I'm going to be doing the third one. The second is a group number, with Caleb doing the lead. The first is a duet, but we don't know who our leads are. We argue, a lot.

Thad scoffs. "Nick and who? I think we should do..." He shrugs. "How about Mariah and David? I don't know."

And this amazing idea struck Jeff. I forever worship him for this. "How about Wes and David?"

Wes goes dark red, and David studies the floor, casting a look over at Wes, who devoutly stares at the ceiling.

I nod enthusiastically, and I'm not the only one. Wes is still not speaking, so Thad rolls his eyes and calls out,"Let's put it to a vote. All in favor?" He starts nudging Wes, because technically, this is his job.

Everyone raises a hand.

A frustrated Thad pokes Wes until he bangs the gavel. "Decided.", he mutters.

Lyric sheets are passed to them, and I get to watch David watch Wes. They're both idiots, seriously.

I glance at Mariah and she smiles, bringing a grin to my own face. She rests her head on my shoulder, and Wes casts me this knowing look, so I send David a penetrating look, which he's too busy staring at Wes to notice, and then form a heart with my hands. He blushes and I sigh calmly, my work being done.

We're let go in about half an hour, and Mariah and I return to our dorms to grab our stuff to go do Pre-Calc homework in the library. We get there in five minutes or so, and grab a table alone in the back.

She opens up her book and pulls her chair up right close to mine. I smile to myself as I take out a pencil.

The day speeds by and the next thing I know dinner is over and we're racing back up to our dorm. We sit on the floor and put a DVD in the portable player and start watching the Finding Nemo, of all things.

She chuckles, turning slightly to face me. "I used to love this movie when I was a kid."

I nod slightly. "I saw it, like, once, I think."

She sighs, siddling closer to me. "I'm gay, too."

I'm silent for a long moment. "I know."

She looks at me, smiling. "I wasn't that secretive about it, I guess. Nobody ever mentioned it to me before, though. No one...seemed to know."

I shrug. "Nobody really guessed about me at my old school. I slept with every single guy in that school. Except for Kurt. And Artie, and a few others."

The look in her eyes both warms me and scares the living hell out of me. "Wow."

"Yeah.", I say softly.

She exhales slowly through her nose. "You have really pretty eyes..."

I blush in spite of myself. "Yours are better."

She glances at her lap and grabs one of my hands. "Do you wanna...",her cheeks sink to an even darker red,"...go out...with me?"

I've never been so happy that I transferred to Crawford. "Of course.", I reply with a grin.

She giggles, which is really cute, and hugs me tightly. "Awesome!"

And I grab her hand, twining my fingers around hers, and turn to finish watching a movie with my _girlfriend._

* * *

><p><strong>so, yeah, i don't know if i liked how that last scene turned out so very much... <strong>

**But seriously. Pressing the review button, and leaving a review...okay, I'm probably not supposed to say this, but you might get a cookie if you do.**


	9. Chapter 9

hey guys! so, two chapters in one day :)... well, unless i don't finish this today. but i probably will.

so, sectionals this chapter. the Nude Erections can get some shit thrown up in there faces...yeah, i was kind of excited about writing this part.

the songs, if you didn't notice in the last chapter, are 'Whataya Want From Me', by Adam Lambert, 'Say (All I Need)', by OneRepublic, 'Playing God', by Paramore, 'Pardon Me', by He Is We, 'Homecoming', by Hey Monday, and '21 Guns', by Green Day.

and again, thanks to Yurixzi. They have some seriously awesome ideas. this is going to be, like, a monster chapter, but i think that that has something to do with all the song lyrics.

also, the reviewer 'Too Lazy To Login' (lol, btw), as you will see in this chapter, Klainetana is not over for this story. And also, for the record, if Santana winds up ending up with Mariah, that means that Brittany will be happy with Artie. I also USUALLY have a really hard time placing Santana with anyone but Brittany, especially since i watched a bunch of random glee episodes today and brittany is way too adorable, but i don't know, my writing takes me strange places.

i still am not sure about mariah or brittany. as of right now, i'm seriously leaning towards brittany, but if I do make this brittana, rest assured that i will not leave mariah alone. I know that the idea of a 'happy ending' is unrealistic, but that's why we get to right about them, right? they can't exist in real life, so why can't everyone wind up happy in my writing?

I don't own anything.

anyway...

_thoughts_

_"cellphone"_

**texts**

enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

I sigh, crossing my legs and staring blankly at the Council's table. Wes is sending me worried looks, and Mariah's arm is around my waist, an anchor to the world. I send her an attempted smile, but it came out a grimace. She frowns at me, concerned.

Sectionals is in two days. Two days and I'm going to see all of them. I guess you could say that I'm not taking it well.

Thad eyes me anxiously. "Are you listening, Santana? You kind of need to be."

I slowly return his gaze. "Yeah...", I lie.

Wes scoffs. I glare at him.

David exchanges a glance with Wes. "Is everything...okay?"

"I guess...", I sigh, unfocused.

Wes disguises a harsh laugh as a cough. "I'm so sure."

I sneer at him. "I'm trying, okay? Drop it."

He raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair. I drop my gaze.

"I'm sorry.", I reply quietly,"I'm just nervous."

Nick sounds surprised."Why? You've done solos before, right?"

Jeff nods along. "Yeah, Valerie."

Caleb turns around, eyebrows together. "Why'd you call him that?", he asks confusedly.

I chuckle. "That's the song I sang at Sectionals last year."

Mariah analyzes me. "She just doesn't want to see the Nude Erections."

Thad snorts. "That is immature, childish, and kind of priceless."

She grins. "I know."

Jeff is undeterred. "Why don't you want to see them?"

"I used to go to McKinley, 'member? I was...not happy with them."

"Why?", Katy asks.

I sigh. I'm not sure if I'm comfortable talking about this here, with everyone. But should they know, maybe? It _could_ possibly interfere with the competition...

I chew on my lip. "Brittany, she's the blonde dancer, we were best friends. I...fell in love...with her, and she rejected me, she told me that if she and her boyfriend ever broke up, than she was mine. This douchey little creep that's always after Berry caught it on tape and posted it on this...horrible blog of his. And then the whole school found out. The Glee club voted me out, and for a while Kurt and Blaine were my only friends." I glance around. "They were the only ones who voted to keep me in. But then Kurt started getting to be friends with Mercedes again, and Blaine just...went around with him, and then..." I sigh. "I was alone. All the time. Kurt stopped even calling to cancel our Saturday nights." I shrug. "It got worse. The the football team..." I sneer. "I was covered in bruises. All the time. They did...horrible things. And Ben Israel posted it all on his stupid blog. You can literally watch it all there." I cast a warning look around the room. "Don't look. I brought alcohol to school to get through the day, and I practically lived on diet pills, and then..." I flip my right wrist over, displaying the cuts on the underside. "And this. I got into this fight with Brittany, and I went home, just wanting to..." I sigh. "I wound up in the hospital, and my dad sent me here. And now, they won't leave me alone. Like, on Facebook, I have, like, five friend requests every day. It's so annoying."

I look around. Pity. I hate sympathy. I'm not used to it. I stand abruptly. "I have to go do something important.", I say lamely. I turn around, and I leave. No one stops me.

* * *

><p><strong>Mariah<strong>

Santana disappears. I contemplate following her, but I think she probably wants to be alone right now.

Wes's mouth has dropped. "Holy..._shit._"

The entire room basically shares a collective look at the Nate's laptop, sitting on the table so very temptingly. We look to the Council. David nods slightly at Wes, who looks to Thad. Thad shrugs and mutters,"Yes."

Wes purses his lips and all three get up and Nate grabs the laptop, typing for a moment, clicking, then typing again.

We gather behind him so we can all see.

"Oh, my God...", Thad hisses.

The page that Nate has found is titled,'**ONE DOWN, ELEVEN TO GO**'. A picture of Santana is on the top, and a series of videos are on the bottom.

Lopez is a DYKE!

Dyke's Mom-HILARIOUS!

Slushy Montage

First Pee Balloon

Locker Montage

Second Pee Balloon

Behind the Gym Exclusive

Lez-Pez Gets Thrown Out of Girl's Locker Room

The list goes on and on. I glare at the computer. "That's sick. I can't believe..."

Nate exchanges a look with Wes, who nods almost imperceptibly.

He selects Lopez is a DYKE!.

_"Right...here... Might be some good gossip..."_, a nasally male voice is saying.

_"...realized why I'm such a bitch to everyone. It's cause I'm...angry...cause I've got all these feelings, for you. Feelings that I'm scared to deal with, cause I'm scared of the consequences. I love you, Brittany. Please...please say you love me, too. Please..."_

_"Of course I love you, I do! It's just...I love Artie, too. I can't hurt him, it wouldn't be right. But if we ever break up, and I'm still lucky enough that your single..."_

_"Don't."_

_"...then I'm totally yours."_

The camera rounds the corner, and suddenly I realize that I don't want Santana around this girl. She's gorgeous, tall, with sleek blonde hair and a lean, toned build. She tries to hug Santana, but Santana pushes her away.

_"Don't touch me."_

She walks away.

The camera shuts off and it returns to the last page.

The next one makes me cry.

It's of Kurt and Blaine, backed into a corner by a bunch of bulked-up football players. Santana shoves through the crowd of onlookers.

_"Hey!"_

They turn. Santana glares at them.

_"You think you're gonna go fucking Braveheart on them? You know what's brave? All you assholes, laying into them. The fuck goes on in that oversized head of yours, 'Zimio?'_

I smile in admiration. She's just so brave.

One of the guys replies,_"What, you think you can help them? Look at that, bro. It's the three muskequeers."_

A few people laugh, and Kurt something to Blaine.

Santana just sighs and takes another step forward. _"I think I asked you ass-fucks a question? Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"_

An especially big one gets all up in her face. _"You're prostitute of a mother. Did she ditch you when you were a kid? I wouldn't blame her. Is that why your such a bitch?"_

Santana's face crumples and she turns around and disappears. I frown. That's odd.

The guy starts to turn around, and suddenly Brittany bursts out of the crowd, shoving two guys apart.

_"What the hell is wrong with you, Azimio?", _she yells.

The guy that I take is Azimio steps back. _"I- Okay, maybe I went a little far, but-"_

_"HER MOM'S DEAD, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!"_, Brittany screams at him.

The hall falls silent, and I wonder how this Ben Israel kid can call this 'hilarious'. The video cuts.

Nate doesn't ask anyone before he hits 'Slushy Montage'.

It's a depressing amount of short clips of Santana, walking through school, when some meaty jock throws a frozen drink in her face.

The worst was one from right behind a pale brunette that I recognize as Kurt Hummel. He's speaking to a slightly chubby dark girl, but the focus is on Santana, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and dark jeans, in the background. Kurt pauses in the conversation, head turning to watch as she goes past.

A tall blonde guy in a letterman jacket strides by her, throwing a slushy in her face with a quip of,"Happy birthday, dyke."

Santana drops her binder and starts to cry. The girl Kurt was talking to covers a smile, glancing at Kurt, but his expression is pained. However, he just turns back to the girl, as the camera follows Santana's movement as she runs into a girls' bathroom.

The 'First Pee Balloon' is heartbreaking. Santana is striding along outside WMHS, a water bottle in one hand and a few notebooks and a binder curled in her other arm.

A red truck pulls up, and a few football players pop up in the back, and start throwing these water balloons at her. She drops all her stuff and tries to run, but fails. She falls to her knees and starts vomiting uncontrollably. I hear a few murmurs of horror, sympathy.

The locker montage is a painful looking series of clips of random jocks shoving Santana into the lockers. Hard. I guess that's where she got those bruises she mentioned.

The second pee balloon video goes about the same as the first.

The 'Behind the Gym Exclusive' is a horrible clip of a few guys that appear to be from the hockey team cornering her behind the gym.

_"Sup, dyke."_

She walks faster.

_"Hey, we're talking to you, Lez-Pez."_

They grab her by the shoulder and throw her into the wall of the gym. She winces, straightening up immediately.

They basically do that a few times, throw a slushy in her face, and harshly kick her in the stomach a few times while she's on the ground.

She glares up at them. _"You do that to a girl? Really?"_

One of the guys kick her again. _"You're not a normal girl."_

The video cuts.

The next is a video of Santana trying to change in the locker room before PE, but the girls in there block her locker and tell her that only regular girls are allowed in here. What really kills you is that she just drops her eyes and shuffles out.

Nate closes his laptop. I catch Wes's eye, he nods towards the door.

I have to find Santana.

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

I just go up to the dorm. I don't really want to see anyone right now, and I have a really bad feeling that they're going to look up those videos.

I sit on my bed with a sigh, getting into my pajamas and pulling the blanket over me even though it's only 6 pm.

After a while, the door opens.

"Santana?"

I hesitate before turning over. "Yep."

"Oh. Are you... Is everything..." She doesn't meet my eyes. "We watched the blog stuff. It was..." Mariah sits on my bed. "I'm so...so sorry, Santana. I can't believe..." She breaks off.

I sigh, sitting up. "It doesn't matter anymore. I'm happy now.", I tell her firmly. I grin. "Now, how 'bouts you come over here so we can gets our cuddle on?"

She smiles and obliges as I pull her down next to me and give her some of the blanket, wrapping my arms around her slim waist and resting my chin in the crook of her neck.

And that's when I start to realize that I'm falling in love.

* * *

><p><strong>Kurt<strong>

We're on the bus to sectionals. Rachel is bouncing around in the front, an aloe drink in one hand an the music sheets in the other. Mercedes is up there with her.

Blaine is next to me. I can tell he's a little more nervous than he normally would be, but it's perfectly understandable. I mean, he's competing with his friends.

I smile reassuringly at him, drawing the slightest smile to his features. I sigh inwardly and face the window. With the choreography Britt and Mike have worked up, we're almost sure to win. We're facing the Warblers and Aural Intensity. I roll my eyes. They _really _need a new name.

We pull up outside the large theater that the competition takes place it and file out of the bus. Rachel is damn near hyperventilating and Blaine no longer looks nervous, but slightly uneasy.

I glance around and tap Blaine on the shoulder. "Look. The Warblers are here." I point at the bus that just stopped by the curb.

He grins. "Cool."

I smile. "Y'know, I'm sure they won't hate you if you beat them."

He snorts. "Only for a few days."

"Of course."

"You can go inside, I just want to say hi."

I shrug. "Nah, it's okay."

He smiles at me as a bunch of uniformed students start pouring out of the bus.

Except, it's not just Dalton. They're intermingled with a bunch of uniformed girls, that I recognize as being from Crawford Country Day.

I freeze, squeezing Blaine's hand and raising an eyebrow when he looks at me. He's frowning.

"I thought they might do something like that.", he sighs.

"Like what? Is it cheating?"

"Oh, no. I just mean that they'd pull out all the stops. They're allowed to bring in the Cardinals for performances. Since the Cardinals don't compete, they're considered a counterpart of the Warblers, but they aren't always incorporated in performances." He blinks. "I sounded so smart..."

I roll my eyes and start to reply when something catches my eye. A tanned face, red lips, shiny black hair. Her fingers are intertwined those of a pretty redhead, also from Crawford. I gasp.

"Blaine!", I hiss,"Look!"

He looks. "Oh...my God. Is that..."

"Yeah..." I tug him along and race inside.

Rachel smiles painfully at me. "Hey! Are you...okay...?"

"Well, there's a...problem..."

She immediately starts to freak out. "Ohmigod, what? Are we gonna lose? Did someone die? Can we not go on? Blaine's dead, isn't he? Kurt, I'm so so-"

"I'm right _here_, Rachel.", Blaine cuts her off.

"Oh. What happened?"

Blaine rolls his eyes. "Dalton brought their adjoining Glee club. They have girls this year. And they actually do have some kick-ass dancers." He suddenly grins at me. "Remember David's backflips?"

I nod, suddenly nostalgic. "Yeah... He really could break dance..."

"But, Rachel, we don't have that much of an advantage with them anymore. And you will never _guess_ who is with the Cardinals."

She scowls. "Who are the Cardinals?"

"Crawford's Glee club, the one that came with the Warblers. Keep up.", he says shortly.

"Um...no idea."

"Santana."

She lets out this high-pitched, ear-shattering squeak. "We're gonna lose. I have to tell...everyone!"

She disappears.

Dalton's on first, so we take out seats out in the audience. Mercedes is talking incessantly on one side, and Blaine is listening to her for me on my other. It's hard to pay attention.

"God, we are so gonna lose! If only... Ugh, I wish we still had Santana! Why'd she have to transfer?" She stops. "Well, okay, why didn't she just _say _something instead of leaving? I bet we coulda helped!" She's digging her fingernails into her thigh through the leggings that she's wearing under her dress. "Whatever. Okay. It's over. We'll be fine. Right, Kurt? We'll be fine." She starts drumming on the arm rest, which is kind of annoying, because I can feel it in the chair.

"Sure, 'Cedes.", I say distractedly.

The lights dim, and that familiar voice rings out. "And now, from Dalton Academy in Westerville, joined by sister school Crawford Country Day, the Warblers!"

The curtain pulls up, and to my surprise, it's David that walks out onto the stage.

_'Hey. Slow it down. Whataya want from me? Whataya want from me?'_

Wes joins him, and my heart practically melts. This is the best idea _ever._

_'Yeah. I'm afraid. Whataya want from me? Whataya want from me?_

_There mighta been a time when I would give myself away. _

_Oh, once upon a time._

_I didn't give a damn._

_But now. Here we are._

_So whataya want from me? Whataya want from me?'_

Wes fades out of the lyrics and David starts the first verse of the chorus. I _knew _they were gay. I knew it. They're just made for each other. They're both clinically insane.

_'Just don't give up. I'm working it out._

_Please don't give in. I won't let you down.'_

_'It messed me up. Need a second to breathe.'_

_'Just keep coming around.'_

_''Hey, whataya want from me? Whataya want from me? Whataya want from me?''_

Blaine is smiling slightly at the stage. I wonder who suggested this. They must be a genius. I turn my attention back to the performance.

_'...and there's nothing wrong with you.'_

_'It's me. I'm a freak. But thanks for lovin' me.'_

_''Cause your doing it perfectly.''_

_'Yeah, there might've been a time when I would let you slip away._

_I wouldn't even try. But I think you could save my life.'_

They start in on the chorus again. I bet it was Nick, or Jeff. Not Thad. Thad wouldn't think of something like this.

_'Just don't give up on me.'_

_'I won't let you down. No, I won't let you down.'_

The chorus repeats, and I look at Blaine. He locks eyes with me, mouthing,'This is awesome.'

I nod enthusiastically in return. The song finishes, and then the rest of the two clubs walk in from either side of the stage, pairing up in perfect time as the next song begins.

I recognize the music, and curse the council's musical genius because this is _perfect _for acapella.

Nick starts the first verse. I've actually never heard most of these guys sing solos.

_'Do you know where your heart is? Do you think you can find it?'_

Some Crawford girl steps forward. _'Or did you trade it for something, somewhere, better just to have it?'_

Jeff takes the next line. _'Do you know where your love is? Do you think that you lost it?' _A smile comes to my face as I see him take Nick's hand when he resumes his spot

My heart jolts as I recognize Santana. _'You felt it so strong, but nothing's turned out how you wanted.'_

Then about twelve voices blend together in a perfect harmony, a slow, tragic dance striking up that somehow brings tears to my eye without the music even needed.

_'Well, bless my soul._

_You're a lonely soul._

_Cause you won't let go,_

_Of anything you hold_

_Well, all I need,_

_Is the air I breathe,_

_And a place to rest,_

_My head.'_

They continue with the next verse, and a lump is still resolute in the back of my throat.

After the second song is over, the group takes a stance around a familiar Latina. I sit up a little straighter as guitar starts to fill the room.

Santana's familiar voice rings out bitingly clear.

_'Can't make my own decisions._

_Or make any with precision._

_Well, maybe you should tie me up._

_So I don't go where you don't want me.'_

They start to shift, every Warbler finding a Cardinal with a smooth, in-sync movement that surprises me. I wonder who choreographed this. Their motions are perfectly executed, and the dancing is phenomenal.

_'You say that I been changing._

_That it's not just simply aging_

_Yeah, how could that be logical?_

_Just keep on cramming ideas down my throat.'_

This song is more like the Warblers usual style, one prominent lead and the rest picking up background. But their tactics otherwise are different. First off, dancing. The Warblers were a stool choir. And usually, all three numbers were sung by the same person. I wish that they did it like this when I was there.

_'Oh-whoa-oh-oh_

_You don't have to believe me._

_But the way I, way I see it._

_Next time you point a finger,_

_I might have to bend it back,_

_Or break it, break it off._

_Next time you point a finger,_

_I'll point you to the mirror.'_

It brings a whole new wash of guilt as I notice that her eyes are undeniably finding us. The New Directions. But we deserve it, don't we?

_'If God's the game that you're playing,_

_Well, we must get more acquainted._

_Because it has to be so lonely,_

_To be the only one who's holy.'_

Mercedes is frowning angrily at the stage, and annoyance is added to that guilt. Doesn't she see that it's our fault? We didn't notice. Rachel looks angry, but also a little regretful. I think that somewhere in there, she actually liked Santana. Tina is frowning, but otherwise, her face is unreadable. Mike is the same. Brittany looks close to tears. Artie is the same as Tina and Mike. Puck has tears in his eyes (what a badass) and Lauren is staring, wide-eyed. Quinn and Finn's mouths are both slightly open, and Sam is looking emotionlessly at the opposing team. Mr. Schue is staring angrily at the stage, mouth a thin line, and eyes dark. I roll my eyes. Blaine's brow is wrinkled, and eyes slightly wet looking. I squeeze his hand.

_'It's just my humble opinion,_

_But it's the one I believe in._

_You don't deserve a point of view,_

_If the only one you see is you.'_

_Oh-whoa-oh-oh_

_You don't have to believe me,_

_But the way I, way I see it,_

_Next time you point a finger,_

_I might have to bend it back,_

_Or break it, break if off._

_Next time you point a finger,_

_I'll point you to the mirror.'_

I wonder yet again who picked out the song. Probably the council. It suits her voice. And, well, her.

_'This is the second last chance.' _

_'(I'll point you to the mirror)' _Wes takes on the more prominent background.

_'I'm half as good as it gets.'_

_'(I'll point you to the mirror)'_

_'I'm on both sides of the fence.'_

_'(I'll point you to the mirror)'_

_'Without a hint of regret,_

_I'll hold you to it.'_

Blaine meets my eyes. He looks angry, but at himself rather than anyone else. I sigh. "I'm sorry.", I say quietly. I should've believed him.

She repeats the chorus twice, and then the Warblers and the Cardinals bow and curtsey, and exit the stage.

But it makes it a little better when I think about the now instead of before. At least she's happy now.

* * *

><p><strong>Santana<strong>

We hurry offstage and chaos breaks out as Wes starts laughing and crying at the same time, telling us all that we kicked ass. David hugs him and Nick and Jeff are making out, and Katy and Jenna are screaming, the Dalton boys are yelling, and suddenly...

A pair of lips suddenly plant themselves onto mine, and I smile into the kiss, twining my arms around Mariah's neck. A bunch of the Dalton boys start cheering, and I broke away from my girlfriend (still love to say that) and send them a withering look.

Mariah grins, and I admire her dark grey eyes. I smile back.

David, one arm still around Wes, who is now more laughing than crying, yells out,"Okay, guys, we have to get to our seats!"

In a giggling mess, we make it to our seats, sitting down just as the lights dim again.

"And now, from William McKinley High in Lima, the New Directions!"

Rachel walks center-stage.

_'Pardon me if I'm a lack of excitement_

_But I'm not entirely thrilled._

_S-s-stutter when I talk,_

_Flail around when I walk,_

_Yeah, the moment's been killed.'_

She continues through the song, and at the very end, she smiles brightly at the crowd, and says in her usual way,"Ladies and gentlemen! The New Directions!"

I roll my eyes and grin at Mariah, who shrugs with a smirk.

_'Homecoming, I'm coming, my sweet mistake.'_

The song continues. Only one phrase really stood out to me, and it's mostly because Brittany sings that part of the chorus every time. They chose her, but why?

_'I messed it up, I messed you up, I missed you...'_

The song ends. Then Puck sings an awesome version of 21 Guns. They really need to give him more solos. I shrug inwardly. I don't really care.

Afterwards, I split off from the group to grab a drink of water. My throat is a little dry now.

I see two unfortunately familiar faces approaching as I turn around.

"Hey, Santana.", Kurt says awkwardly. I nod stiffly.

"Hello.", I reply emotionlessly.

Blaine sighs. "We, uh, kind of wanted to say sorry. For being asses. We..." He laughs humorlessly. "We really messed up. All of us did. But..." He trails off, and Kurt picks up for him.

"We were really unfair to you. We just...forgot...about you, and that's not okay. So, I know this doesn't make it alright, but we're both really, really sorry. And, we should all probably go now, we have to get up on the stage."

I contemplate what just happened for a long moment as I walk with them back towards the stage. Mariah casts me a weird look as I stand at her side with the rest of my teammates and Kurt and Blaine join the Nude Erections.

"Alright, in second place... McKinley High's New Directions!"

The audience cheers half-heartedly and my jaw drops. All of their faces have fallen pitifully, and I feel a stab of sympathy for a moment. At least Glee won't get cancelled for that anymore.

"And the winner of the Sectionals competition is..." I curse dramatic effect. "...the Warblers!"

Unabridged joy fills me, and I plant a kiss on Mariah's lips, and Wes gives me a huge hug. He turns around, and _kisses _David, square on the lips.

Wes doesn't even seem to notice what he just did, and David comes away wide-eyed but smiling.

I grin as Wes suddenly whips around and starts trying to apologize. David cuts him off with another kiss, and I laugh.

I grip Mariah's hand tightly and walk over to the Nude Erections.

"Hey!", I greet, not nearly as perky as I wish I'd been. "You guys did really well.", I say to Kurt. A huge smile breaks out on his face.

"You were better.", he replies sheepishly. I smile slightly, pulling Mariah up.

"This is Mariah, my girlfriend. 'Riah, this is Kurt, and Blaine..."

She nods and smiles, shaking Kurt's hand as we head backstage. "It's nice to meet you...", she says politely.

I haven't really forgiven the pair. Not totally.

But honestly, if I'm going to be truly happy, I think I have to start.

On the way out, I'm cornered by the majority of ND. Only Kurt Blaine, and Brittany are missing.

"You should've just said something, Santana. Then we all could've won. Together. You don't care about us, though. You just left.", Mercedes quips.

My jaw drops. Are they seriously doing this? Seriously?

"I'm sure that we could've done something if you'd just fessed up sooner.", Rachel says softly.

I try to turn and just walk away, but Puckerman is blocking my path.

He starts to speak, but Mariah's voice cuts him off.

"Okay, just what the hell's going on?"

She shoves Mercedes aside and steps in front of me, and Wes, David, Nick, and Jeff are getting them out of my face. "You don't get up in her face. You're all selfish, self-involved and complete douches. She needed you guys, and you!" She points at Mercedes. "If I remember correctly, you once laughed at the way she was treated at your school."

Wes glares around at all of them. "We actually care. It's called being friends, something that I'm coming to understand you don't know anything about."

Nick crosses his arms, grinning snarkily. "So you can just stay away from our girl."

This bubble of happiness in my chest fills up, and I start to smile, feeling tears coming to my eyes. The Nude Erections disappear.

David shrugs helplessly. "You need a bodyguard around here, San.", he says, half-joking.

Half an hour later, I've just given Kurt and Blaine my number, and promised to friend them on Facebook, when she approaches me.

There are tears in her eyes, and she smiles sadly at me.

"Hi, Sanny."

I half-smile in return. I'm surprised to find that I don't hate her. "Hey, Brittany."

"I broke up with Artie after you left."

I frown. "Oh, that's too bad."

She shrugs. "I couldn't stand..." She starts sniffling. "I'm sorry, Tanny. I never shoulda chosen him. You... I miss you so much!"

I don't reply. My chest is aching in a way that bothers me. I still hate to see her like this.

She sighs. "I came out to the Glee club. I told them I'm...bi...bi..."

I smile. "Bisexual. That's great!", I say sincerely.

"Are you happy, Tanny?"

I smile. "I am. I...I really am."

"Well, that's good. You're dating...that red-haired girl, right?"

"Her name's Mariah."

"Is she nice to you?"

I nod.

"I..." He voice is thick. "D-do you l-love her?"

I shrug. "I don't know, Britt-Britt."

"Do you...do you still love me?"

I sigh. Deep down, I know that I do. I'll probably never stop. "I...I might."

"I still love you. I miss you a lot. And since this time the plumbing is the same, I know that it's cheating, so we can't have sweet lady kisses."

I smile at the memory. "I can't do that to Mariah."

She nods. "I get it. Just... If you guys break up, ever, can we talk?"

My eyes fill with tears. "Sure."

"Promise?" She holds out her pinkie finger. I curl my own around it.

"Promise."

* * *

><p><strong>so, the review button still passes out cookies. or cupcakes, whichever you prefer. if your lucky, you might get a donut or something. the poll-thing is still open for mariah and brittany, so tell me what you think!<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

Hey guys!

Okay. I am sosososososososososososo SORRY for the super long wait! This story WILL be updated soon! From you guys' reviews, I guess that this will end up being Santana/Mariah, but any Brittana shippers, IT'S NOT TOO LATE! That sounded like a commercial. But seriously, it's still open, I haven't come to a decision because to be honest, I am torn between what my readers (if I have any left) want and what I want.

Now, just a little update on my life. I just took my clothes out of the washing machine, and I realized that I washed my cellphone with it. And it's broken. Like, it still turns on, but the touch screen has water in it so it won't work, and it starts randomly doing stuff by itself. OMG WHAT IF I NEED A NEW ONE? I DO, DON'T I? I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT CELL PHONES! Well, I know how to work them, but like, I don't know anything about fixing them or stuff like that.

Ahem.

But, anyway, this story has not been forgotten! I have a few ideas in mind for the next chapter and so on, so hang in there, guys.

Hasta la vista, babyy! Sorry, couldn't resist.

Bye peepzuls!


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